Cripple
by be-nice-to-nerds
Summary: 'Then my mind whirls back into gear and I do what I've been doing my whole life. I act.' When Lucas Haron is chosen to represent District 10 in the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games, his life is turned upside down. Runner up in the 2010 THG fic awards.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! Here I am, with my second THG fanfic. I was going to wait until I wrote the last chapter to post it, but then I remembered that Catching Fire is coming out in a few days. As this fic will probably be rendered AU by then, I want to at least start to post it before Catching Fire comes out so I have an excuse.**

**Yeah. Just read and enjoy.**

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The second I wake up in the morning, I know that this day isn't going to end well.

No, I'm not psychic or anything, although that would be really handy. I can't see into the future. I don't particularly want to, either. My instincts aren't amazingly well honed – I'm not a worker, and it shows. But I know, with one hundred percent certainty, that this day is going to end badly for at least one family in District Ten.

How? Well the answer, like so many other things in life, is simple, if you use a bit of logic and common sense. Really it should be called uncommon sense, since no one – especially not the Capitol – seems to have it.

It is the first day of the seventy fourth annual Hunger Games.

Now anyone who somehow managed to get into my head at this moment would notice something odd. Hang on, this invisible listener would say, he only mentioned _one _family. But there are two tributes from each district. So even if he was only talking about his own district (which I was), there would still be two families, not one.

This is where I differ from the casual observer. See, unlike most people, who are generally lacking in both logic and mathematical ability, I actually bother adding up the numbers. The average family in District Ten contains maybe two and a half kids. I can't speak for any of the other districts since I don't know anywhere near as much as I'd like to about them. But we're talking about my district at the moment.

Providing that there is one boy and one girl in each family – which happens pretty often – and that they are both within seven years of the other, it is possible for both tributes for the same district to be siblings. To borrow the Capitol's favourite saying, the odds are definitely not in this possibility's favour. However, it is still possible. If there's one thing I've learnt in life, it's not to rule anything out. They thought that I'd never be able to walk after the accident, and here I am. And it's the beginning of the Hunger Games. Unlikely odds are their specialty.

I am rudely shaken out of my musings by a hard kick to the side. My breath is jolted out of me and my eyes fly open.

I immediately wish that they'd stayed closed. The sight that greets me is not a pleasant one, at least in my opinion. Apparently, half of the female population – and some of the males - of District Ten think otherwise. I don't know what's been messing with their heads.

I am talking of course, about my big brother Eoin. Current state of dress: half naked. Ugh.

He looks fairly staple District Ten – brown eyes, dark brown hair, olive skin. He has a rather prominent nose and some stubble growing on his chin. His build is also classic Ten, at least my part of it. Big, but not too big, strong but not fat. He's more well-fed than some, thanks in part to me. Currently he has one foot raised to kick me again. That's gratitude for you.

"Hold your horses,' I grumble. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

I sit up, making sure to only use my left leg to aid me. My right trails limply across the mattress. Usually I'd have no hesitation about using it – real pain makes my act look better, and it doesn't bother me that much. But today being the day it is, I think it's better not to strain my foot. To conserve my strength, just in case.

"Why am I getting up so early anyway?" I ask him. "This is reaping day, or have you forgotten that already? We have a holiday, idiot."

He kicks me again. Hard.

"Hey!" I yelp. "What was that for?"

I could play the cripple card, but that would give him permission to use it too. And I don't want to get into a fight about how useless I am, or hear how giving me food is as good as throwing it away. Not today.

"Don't get smart, little brother." He says those last two word like they're poisonous, spitting them out – and spraying me with saliva at the same time. "I'm well aware it's the Reaping today. Mum's called a family meeting in five minutes. She sent me to wake you up."

The look on his face suggests he'd rather be anywhere but here. I don't blame him. How could I? After all, I feel exactly the same. Eoin and I don't have the world's best relationship. More like the world's worst.

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I get down to the main room in just under five minutes, closely followed by a yawning Nan. Predictably, Eoin and Mum are there already and they glare at us as we come in. I don't see what their problem is. I mean, we're here on time and everything. There's just no pleasing some people.

The meeting gets underway. It's the same routine we've gone through every Hunger Games since Eoin was old enough to become a tribute, so I can recite Mum's speech exactly word for word – and I'll probably be asked to, as it's aimed mostly at Nan and I. Especially me. Eoin's safe, even though he's still eighteen and eligible. Lucky bugger.

As usual, my thoughts shift off into other places while my face looks like I'm paying attention. This time, I think about my family – also known as the definition of the word dysfunctional.

Firstly, there's my mother. Eoin takes after her – they have the same dark eyes, the same hair, the same heavy build. My brother has Father's nose though.

My mother has a very domineering personality. She's one of those people who seem to take up all available space the second they enter a room. Even before the accident which killed my father and took away the proper use of my right leg, she was very much the head of the family.

My father was always happy to be trodden over by Mother. He was a quiet, simple man. All of my memories of him are good ones. Like most of District Ten, he worked at the quarries, doing double the work that we had to before District Thirteen was destroyed. Twelve pitched in a bit too, as did Nine, but we were closest in the resources we had so we took over most of their work. Dad was a good worker, but the work never really suited him. He had lighter skin than my mother, with light brown hair and blue eyes. Supposedly I'm the splitting image of him.

But back to my mother. Mum's a quarry gal, hard as granite and with a heart to match. She's one of the few females who actually work in the quarries, doing what is considered to be a man's job. Needless to say, may mother did not take that news well. She's a modern day version of a – what were they called again... – that's right, a feminist.

Next, I think about my brother. Best to get the worst over and done with, that's what I say. Eoin is something of a bully. He works in the quarries, and has done so since he was old enough to enter the Hunger Games. We don't exactly get along very well. I have no idea why, since I've treated him the same way I treat every other person – at first, at least. We got on okay until the accident, then he started treating me like dirt. I think he somehow links me to the death of our father or is annoyed that I survived while Dad died.

No idea why. Linking me with my father's death is one of the most illogical things I've ever heard. I'm not a vicious Career for heavens sake! And I don't think that even a Career would want to kill their own parents!

Well, maybe one or two of the more psycho ones would. But not all of them… I think.

My mother drones on. The same old speech about what happens if Eoin gets chosen. Nothing I haven't heard before, and I really don't want to focus on how I have double chance of becoming our male tribute.

I glance across at Nan, who looks as bored as I feel. Nan's my younger sister, not my grandmother, despite what her name suggests. She looks like a cross between Father and Mother – she has my father's light skin and smaller frame, but her hair and eyes are my mother's dark brown.

Nan's real name is Nantucket, the poor girl. Unlike myself and Eoin, who have relatively normal names, Nan was named by our slightly insane Aunty A. Aunty A was born with a terrible name herself (Andromeda) and she seems to think it's her life mission to make someone else have to put up with also having a bad name.

I shouldn't criticise Aunty A though, as she was the one who looked after us in that rough year before Eoin could start working and receive tesserae. Mum had to work in the mines full time so Aunty A cooked and cleaned and managed to get food for us. I don't really want to know how. She also looked after me in that year, when my leg was still really bad and I couldn't move out of bed. I'm forever grateful for that.

I'm talking about Nan though. She tends to be the peacekeeper between Eoin and I. Like me, she's quiet but while I'm firm and quietly confident she's less secure and hates conflict. Nan takes care of the rest of us while we're out earning money. She cooks, she cleans, she bargains for food… She's the woman of the house, and she's only thirteen.

Poor girl.

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The second Mum decides that the meeting's over, I'm out of there. Pausing only to grab half a loaf of bread off the table, I race out of the house as fast as my leg can carry me. Which admittedly isn't very fast – I can go faster, but I don't want to put any strain on it, what with my double chances of being picked and all.

I rip a small bit off the bread. Predictably, it's stale, but what can you do? Nan isn't stupid enough to leave fresh bread lying around where anyone can take it. And half a loaf… I usually don't get that much, being last in the feeding order and all that.

Double chances… Mum's little speech has just served as a reminder of how abnormal my life is. Way to put me in a bad mood. Thanks, Mum.

I guess I should explain a few things. The thing is, it was all Eoin's idea. It's also a reason why I loath him so much. His reasoning is logical yet short sighted. It goes something likes this:

I'm a cripple, so I can't work in the quarry. This means that I can't bring in as much money as the others and I consume more than I produce. True, but only for the time being. I'm smart. I'm top of my class – probably nearly top of my District. I could get a good job doing the accounts for someone or working for the Capitol. I _do_ have a job, doing accounts for the butcher. It doesn't pay very well, but it's something.

I've gotten used to not getting as much as others because of my disability. It doesn't bother me anymore. I can see why it bothers my family, but in a few years I will be able to produce more than I consume. I might even have a better position than Eoin, since he dropped out of school as early as possible so he could go to work full time. That might be another reason he resents me, now that I think about it.

I waste some of my family's precious time and resources in looking after me. This is true, but not as true as it used to be. I'm not the freshly injured eight year old I used to be. I'm fifteen now, and I can look after myself. Just ask Ren. She's my best friend, maybe even more, and she's the person I'm on my way to see at the moment.

But anyway, Eoin's logic says that I'm a burden to the family and they would probably be better off if I didn't exist, so if his name gets drawn in the Reaping then I should volunteer to take his place. He has more of a chance that I do, but District Ten is still one of the poorer districts. We've only had five previous winners out of seventy three – he doesn't have a chance. Better that the useless cripple dies.

While I'm at it, he doesn't need to take any more tesserae than he has since I turned twelve. Oh, crippled boy's useless, let him increase his odds of dying greatly. In fact, let him take more tesserae than the minimum we need – it can be his contribution to the family. We can also preserve the lives of the two normal members by not letting them take any tesserae whatsoever, just to add insult to injury.

Forgive me if I'm bitter. I can't help it. I should be used to it by now, but it still stings to see how little I mean to my family. I meant something to Dad, and Aunty A, but they're both dead now. And Nan's nicer to me than the others, but she still won't stand up for me. Human beings can be so selfish sometimes, myself included.

I've been walking without really thinking, my feet retracing the path I know so well. Ren's house is only a few streets closer to the District Centre than mine is so it isn't a very long walk.

The streets are empty, with most people using the holiday to lie in and try not to think about the Reaping. Ours isn't till one, so we have plenty of time. I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing. I've never had the Reaping at any other time, so I don't think I'll know either.

A hand waves in front of my face.

"Hey. Earth to Lucas."

That's my name. What, you think all of us kids have a name like Nantucket? Seriously? Not all of our parents are insane. Just Aunty A.

I smile. "Glad to see you too, Ren"

And it is Ren, I can tell without looking. Only she would be brave enough to wave a hand in front of the 'crippled boy'. Anyone else would be too scared. What if he falls over and can't get back up? What if this, what if that. I'm sick of being treated like an invalid, like I'm a bomb that might explode at any moment. I can take care of myself!

Ren's pretty much the only person outside my family who gets that. Her Dad was injured in the same rockslide that killed my own father, maybe injured even worse than I was. He never managed to recover, so Ren and her brother and mother have to support all of them now.

Similar to the situation back home, I suppose, only her father can't do anything to help at all, so food's stretched tighter there than at my place. He has to sit around and twiddle his thumbs all day – he's become an expert at whittling spare pieces of firewood. When he wants to move he has to be carried. Poor guy.

Anyway, Ren and I were friends even before the accident. Now, however, we're inseparable. Partners in crime, I suppose. Only we don't really steal. We… redistribute wealth, I suppose. From the rich to the poor – AKA us.

No, we don't do anything against the law. I'm not suicidal. Relax, would you?

What we do is we act. There's no way I'd beg – I might be a cripple, but I still have my dignity. So we're actors.

Of course, we look poorer than we are. Just to get more sympathy votes. I emphasise my limp, and we both dress in more ragged clothes than we already have – but not too ragged. I have my pride, and our technique is more effective if people don't immediately place us as beggars – which we're not.

We're buskers. That's not a word I invented, even though it sounds cool and sometimes I wish I had. Ren picked it up from school somewhere. It defines what we do perfectly, so that's what we call ourselves. The Buskers.

We have a little skit we go through. Actually we have several. We also recycle locations – people are more likely to pay us once or twice than consistently, so it's good to have a varied audience.

Ren and I have gotten better over the years. Our acting's improved and we've become experts at knowing exactly where we can set up our show to get the most money. We never get a lot – this is District Ten, after all. But we always manage to get something, even if the coins are in the smallest change possible or if it's only a stale crust of half eaten, mouldy bread.

Yet again, Ren pulls me into the real world.

"What is it with you today, Lucas? You don't usually space out this often unless… Oh."

Finally, it clicks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't remember what day it was." Her voice is laced with sympathy. From anyone else, it would annoy me, but this is Ren. She's different. She's… special.

She's lying, of course – she did remember the Reaping. How could you forget it? But I'm not going to mention it.

"It doesn't matter. Want some?" I hold out my piece of bread.

Her face lights up. "Yes please. Thanks."

So I spend the morning in the company of my best friend. I can almost forget that it's the Reaping today. I'm going to stay here till it's time and then just go to the square with Ren and her family. My family only ever meets up after the Reaping, and I can't say I'm sorry about that.

Of course, we do go out a bit later. We don't get many customers as there is hardly anybody out and about. But the few we do get pay well. I guess everyone is feeling generous today.

It could be the last time they see us, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to the two people who reviewed. For the rest of you – I don't like to beg, but feedback would be greatly appreciated.**

**Just out of curiosity, who's been lucky enough to get hold of a copy of Catching Fire? I haven't – it's not coming out here for another week or so, which sucks. But please, can we keep the site free of spoilers from those of you who have read it? Put spoiler warnings in the summary, and please try not to have any in the summary itself. Thank you very much, and enjoy the fic.**

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The Square is relatively empty when Ren and I arrive. Her parents and brother are coming later – they have to carry her father over in the special chair he uses whenever he leaves the house. Have I mentioned yet how lucky that guy makes me feel whenever I'm around him?

The two of us duck the rope barrier that separates the fifteen year olds from the rest of the district. We're the only ones in our age group there yet, although there are a few people in some of the other ages, mostly the older ones. And a few twelve and thirteen year olds staying close to their mothers until they have to let go.

I never had that luxury. Lucky them. They should enjoy it while it lasts.

The two of us are dressed in our best Reaping gear as I left mine at her house this morning so that I wouldn't have to double back home. I'm also carrying my stick I use as a crutch when we're busking. I don't know why, but I bring it every year. Some sort of subconscious safety mechanism, maybe.

"What would you do if you won the Hunger Games?" Ren asks me, totally out of the blue.

I mentally snort, but go along anyway. It's some kind of yearly tradition which we know would surely never happen. But it lightens the mood. And you have to keep cheerful about this. There's no other way to cope.

"I don't know," I answer.

"Yes you do," she tells me. "You always know. So, what's your answer?"

I pretend to think. "Hmm… Maybe I'd give all of my money to Major Lardbutt and go back to my normal life."

She laughs, because I was obviously sarcastic. Like I'd ever give Loser Lardbutt anything.

Making fun of Lardbutt is one of our favourite pastimes. Loser Lardbutt isn't his real name, of course. He's called (Mayor) Lucian Bluebottle, and just because he's under the pay of the Capitol he forgets that he was born one of us. He looks down on the rest of the district, and we all despise him for that. Quietly, of course. There are spies everywhere.

"No, really." Ren's speaking again. "What would you do?"

"I'd move all of my family up. We'd never have to work again."

This is the normal type of stuff. But before I can stop myself, more spills out.

"And I'd move you guys up as well. I'd give you half the winnings, same as we do anything else. But I'd buy your Dad one of those things they have in the Capitol… wheelchairs, I think they're called. So he could move around."

Ren, for once in her life, is speechless.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," she whispers. "Even if it was only theoretical." That's probably true. Ren isn't really used to kindness from others outside her family. Even our regulars don't offer what I just did, even if it's impossible.

What she does next catches me completely by surprise. She hugs me. Ren, Ren who hates physical contact, who avoids it whenever she can, is hugging me. She's hugging me! And for a few seconds, I forget about the Reaping and my crippled foot, and only focus on this. Ren is hugging me!

Unfortunately, the moment ends far too soon. The square is getting fuller by the minute so we have to break apart. Typical.

I spot Nan weaving her way through the crowd to the thirteen year old area. Unlike some of the others, she doesn't stay with Mum but walks straight into the centre of the empty area. That takes guts. She's stronger than she looks, my sister. Good for her.

More and more people crowd into our part of the Square. I spot some people that I recognise from school, but none of them come over. Most people prefer to be alone or with one or two close friends during the Reaping. I know I do.

We are pushed to the side of the side of the cordoned off area. You can almost feel the tension growing. Ren and I stick close together.

And then Mayor Lardbutt steps on stage. And the crowd goes silent.

We wait. And we wait. And we wait.

Traditionally, the Reaping starts the second the clock on the main tower chimes one. Unfortunately, something happens to be wrong with our clock today. Not that I mind. If we can put the Capitol behind schedule and stuff up their televised order… standing here for another half hour seems a small price to pay.

Finally, after hurried discussion between Loser Lardbutt, our representative from the Capitol Theodora Glitter, and District Ten's two surviving winners, the Reaping begins.

I tune out most of Mayor Lardbutt's speech about the history of the Capitol. It's the exact same one he's read out for the past fifteen years. I could probably recite it off by heart if you asked me to.

Instead, I focus on what has become a major scientific issue. How on earth does Lardbutt manage to stay upright? A short description of our mayor: Fat. He has tiny legs, tiny arms and a rather small head on top of a huge ball of blubber. His neck is invisible, and last reaping Ren and I played count the chin. I lost count at around five. Ren counted seven.

What's even more disgusting about that is where we are. This is District Ten, the third poorest (arguably second poorest) district in all of Panem. People die of starvation on a weekly basis. And yet, while people like Ren's family and mine try to make ends meet, this gigantic ball of blubber is eating happily away. In fact, some of his food has been stolen from the food that should be rightfully ours.

Do you know what that means? The less food there is, the more it costs, according to one of the rules of North America's ancient economic system. In other words, Lardbutt steals food from the district. There is now less food, therefore the price of food goes up. This means that the poorer citizens cannot afford food, and then they die of starvation. Or they need more tesserae, thus increasing their chances of dying by being chosen in the Hunger Games.

Is this fair? No it isn't.

And I bet that fool Lardbutt doesn't even realise how much he's helping the Capitol. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care. But he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who's smart enough to realise what he's doing. He's just an ignorant pig, and maybe that's even worse.

Finally! The end of his speech is arriving. Now Loser Lardbutt is introducing our two surving Hunger Games champions, Morgan Spike and Ando Torentsky.

We've had five winners in total. Of course, two of them were in the early stages of the Hunger Games. Before District Four invented the Career Tribute (yes, it was them and not District One or the Capitol, contrary to popular belief), we had one winner. During the early years of the Careers, before the idea had caught on in Districts One and Two, and before there was a Career every year from Four, we managed another win. I have no idea how our third, dead, winner won. Or Morgan, for that matter. She was before my time.

The two champions file in – they had made their escape during the Mayor's speech – and sit down.

Here comes the part I hate.

Theodora Glitter takes the stage. It hurts just to look at her. Her skin is pinstriped green and purple. She has fluorescent pink hair and is wearing a lime green suit. Ouch.

"Happy Hunger Games everybody," she trills in her supper annoying Capitol accent, which is particularly strong in her. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour."

Theodora walks over to the first glass bowl. Her hand hovers over the entrance.

"Good luck," I whisper to Ren.

She smiles weakly in return.

I have a chant going through my head:

_Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren_

Theodora's hand drops into the bowl.

_Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren_

"And the female tribute for District Ten is…"

The tension builds. She's doing it on purpose, but I wish she'd just get it over with.

_Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren Not Ren_

"Kyra Walker!"

I sigh in relief. And then immediately feel guilty for being happy about a tribute. And because I didn't hope for Nan. What does that say about me?

A girl I dimly recognise walks onto the stage. She's fourteen, I know that from school, but she could easily pass for a thirteen year old or maybe even a twelve year old.

"Any volunteers?"

We all know the answer. None. Surprisingly enough, Kyra manages to keep from crying. Barely.

Theodora walks over to the other side of the stage. As happily as ever, she pulls out the male tribute.

_Not me Not me Not me Not me Not me_

"Lucas Haron!"

It's me.

Oh no.

It's me.

I take a few seconds to process the thought. But then my mind whirls back into gear and I do what I've been doing my whole life. I act.

Leaning heavily on my stick for support, I limp all of the way to the foot of the stage. Slowly of course. Very slowly. Lucky for me, a lifetime of making my foot look worse than it is has paid off. If I didn't have the experience…

I shudder. I'd have no chance in the arena. None whatsoever. Not that I have much of one now, but still. A tiny chance is better than no chance at all.

I pause at the foot of the stage.

"Sorry," I tell the people up on stage in a small voice. "Sorry, but it might take me a while to get up these stairs."

"We don't mind, lad," says Theodora Glitter, still in her chipper voice. "Take your time. There's no hurry."

And there isn't. In the five minutes it takes me to get up those stairs, I am suddenly glad about my disability. For one thing, it gives me time to school my expression into the ideal one for me and the role I am trying to play. I must show no weakness, not until I can meet with Ren and talk to her about what I want to do. For another thing, it throws the Capitol's viewing order even further off schedule. It seems that their live broadcasting isn't going to work out today I think, as I hear the clock strike half past one. Good.

Finally, after what seems like a million years, I make it up the stairs. I stand there, breathing heavily and leaning on my stick.

Theodora asks for volunteers, but of course there are none. Eoin probably isn't the only one who is perversely glad that a cripple was chosen. All of the other district's tributes will be for certain.

I can already imagine the pity people are feeling from me, and just that thought makes me want to throw away my stick and show people that I can walk. But I don't. I might hate it, but I know that the only way I'm going to have a chance is if I don't show people what I'm really capable of. And I need to start now. Which means I'm going to have to put aside my feelings, at least until I get to the arena.

"Let's have around of applause for our two tributes from District Ten."

And they clap. Ren doesn't and Nan doesn't, and surprisingly Eoin and Mum don't either. Neither does Ren's family or the butcher, who's probably just realised he's going to have to find a new accountant. Some other people who are probably Kyra's family don't clap, but the rest of the district does. Half heartedly, of course. No one likes the Reaping. But they clap, and that's the saddest thing of all.

* * *

The second the Reaping is over we are escorted to the City Hall. Also known as no man's land. No one ever enters there unless they're in serious trouble, or they're the mayor or a peacekeeper, or they're a spy. Or if they're a tribute or a family member after the Reaping.

That's what we are. I take a moment to admire the fancy surroundings before Kyra and I are split up and taken into several rooms. Luckily, mine's on the ground floor. I really don't feel like climbing up any more stairs.

The room they throw me in is small but it's amazing. The seats are really soft and padded with some kind of material which feels amazing. I have no idea what they call it though.

I don't have long to wait before my first visitors arrive. As per usual, my family is the first to come in. Nan's in the lead, followed by my mother and surprisingly enough, Eoin.

Nan runs straight to me and hugs me before standing aside, but the other two come in and stand awkwardly just inside the room. Eoin has the sense to pull the door shut.

We stand there in awkward silence for a few moments, before I start talking.

"So. This is it. Your life insurance has finally run out. I know it's going to be easier for you without me here, so don't even start giving me lies about missing me."

Nan interrupts me. "But we will miss you, Lucas. You know we will."

"Yeah," Eoin breaks in. Wow. I never expected Eoin to say something like that. It's almost worth having a death sentence, just to hear him say it.

"Look," I continue. "Maybe you will, maybe you won't. Doesn't matter. Eoin, you're safe now. Get that pay rise you're entitled for now that you're not eligible to be a tribute. Mum, this is for you too. Make sure Nan doesn't need to take tesserae. We've already lost two members of our family – three, actually. I don't want us to lose another. Nan. Don't play the hero. Please. You have five more years left, and I want to make sure you survive all of them. Stay in school. Keep on looking after the other two. But keep safe. Please. All of you."

"Wow, little bro." Eoin tells me. "I never knew you had it in you to make such a speech."

"Neither did I, actually," I say.

We stand there a bit more in silence, none of us knowing what to say, until a Peacekeeper raps on the door.

"Five minutes left!"

Mum enfolds me in a hug. This is rare. Mum isn't generally a huggable person. But I hug here back.

"I love you Lucas, despite how it may appear. I'm just looking out for all of our best interests. Never forget that."

I'm shocked. Mum rarely hugs, and even rarely tells anyone what she's feeling. Obviously, it takes me a while to respond. "I love you too, Mum."

Next I hug Nan, and repeat the same sentiments. They two of them leave the room. Now it's just Eoin and I left.

"Look, little brother." For once he's saying the words nicely. "I know we've never treated each other the best. And now that I know I'm never seeing you again… I'm sorry. What I did was wrong. Can you forgive me?"

He sounds sincere enough, but I know Eoin. He didn't do this of his own free will. I find it hard to believe that the guy who encouraged me to volunteer for him, to take more tesserae, the guy who probably landed me in this mess, is suddenly having second thoughts.

"Nan put you up to this, didn't she?"

He looks sheepish. "Actually, Mum did," he tells me.

Wow. Mum put him up to this. That's a shocker.

There are too many years of pain and conflict between the two of us for it to be resolved this quickly. But I can at least start to patch things up.

'You're forgiven," I tell him, holding out my hand. And we shake on it.

"Times up," calls the Peacekeeper, and Eoin leaves. I am alone.

But not for long. My next guest is Ren.

The second the door closes behind her she flies to me. And for the second time that day, for the third time ever, Ren hugs me. We just cling together for a bit, unwilling to let each other go. But we do. We have to.

"Ren. Will you be able to do the show without me?"

She nods hesitantly. "Probably. And there are always other ways of getting money."

Now I'm scared. "Please promise me you won't do anything illegal. Please."

"I promise, Lucas." This is sincere. She won't break this promise. I know Ren.

I haven't finished yet. "And don't beg. It's beneath you." Ironically, I'm almost begging her. "And please, please don't take anymore tesserae unless you really have to. I don't want you to die."

"I don't want you to die either," she whispers.

I give her the ghost of a smile. "Neither do I. I'll do my best to come back."

Silence. Comfortable yet sad silence, which I have to break.

"I hate to bring this up with you, but which persona do you think would be best for me to wear?"

Ren brightens up a bit. She's in familiar territory now.

"You want to play the part of the poor cripple," she tells me. Ren's already managed to pick out what I'm doing, but that's only because she knows me. I hope.

"But you probably want to put in a bit of yourself behind it. To show that you might have a significant setback but you're still fighting. Take your stick with you but don't have it as your district token – the gamekeepers will take it off you."

That's true. Last year a boy from Four got his token – a bone fishhook - confiscated on the grounds that it could be used to catch food. My stick can easily double as a weapon.

"When you're in the arena," Ren continues, "the first thing you want to do it to look for a good solid piece of wood to use as a stick."

I can see her logic. After a few days – if I make it that far - my foot will start to play up and a stick will be really handy. Also it's the only weapon I have any clue about how to use.

"What if they don't have wood?" I ask her, just to keep to conversation going. They will. Ever since that year that all the tributes froze to death some type of wood is always available. My real worry is whether the wood will be the type I need.

"Don't be stupid!" Ren says. "Of course they'll have wood."

She pulls something out of her pocket. "Here. I wanted you to have this."

I take it from her open palm and look at it. The object is a tiny wooden carving, small enough to easily stand on the palm of my hand but immensely detailed. There are two figures standing next to each other – a boy and a girl. The boy has a wooden stick with a flag on the end in one hand and his left arm wrapped around the girl's shoulders. His right foot only has the toes on the ground and I realise that it's me. The face is the exact replica of mine. This is amazing!

The girl is Ren. Everything about her is identical to the real one that stand's in front of me – the same reddish-brown hair stuck into two pigtails on each side of her head, the same freckled face, the same mouth that's nearly always curved up in a smile and those warm light brown eyes. Of course, the colours don't really exist on the carving but otherwise the carving is a splitting image of Ren. Her right arm is wrapped around my shoulders. The two bodies are touching everywhere other than where there's a small hole between them that looks natural, just like there would be one in real life.

This sculpture must have taken weeks, maybe months to make. I can't accept it.

"This is amazing, Ren." I breathe. "Did your Dad make it?"

She nods. "Yeah. He gave it to me but I thought you needed it more. It's something to remember me by."

Ren holds out a piece of string. "Use this to tie it round your neck so it won't get lost. This can be your district token."

"Ren, I can't take this. It's too precious. Anyway, how will you remember me?"

"Take it, Lucas." She refuses my offer to return it. "You need it more than I do. Anyway, I have another one."

There's another sculpture of me. This time it's just me. I look maybe a year younger in this one. I'm grinning up at whoever is holding it. I don't have my stick, but my right ankle still isn't on the ground. My hands are tucked into my pockets.

"You just need to remember what I look like," she says. "And this one'll help me remember you, so I think it's fair."

I'm speechless. "Wow Ren… Thanks. I don't know what to say."

She smiles. "You're welcome."

And we hug again. Three times in one day!

Too soon, the Peacekeepers are knocking on the door. Just before Ren's hand touches the doorknob, my mind loses control of my mouth entirely.

"Ren! Wait!"

She turns around.

"What is it, Lucas?"

Suddenly my brain takes over again and I forget what I was going to say.

"It's nothing Ren. Sorry."

The door is thrown open and the Peacekeepers arrive to pull Ren out.

"I'll miss you," she yells, just before the door slams shut.

"I'll miss you too, Ren," I whisper at the closed door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who puts spoiler warnings on their fics. I still haven't managed to get hold of Catching Fire, a fact which annoys me greatly. But please - can you keep spoilers out of the summaries? I've read one that goes 'Person X's thoughts on his betrayal. Catching Fire warnings'. Thanks a heap for the spoiler warning - but now, when I read the book and a traitor comes up, the mystery will be spoiled - because I already know person X has done it. Thanks. **

**And if anyone hasn't realised it yet - Lucas is not an OC, rather he's the crippled boy from District Ten.**

**Enjoy this chapter**

**BNTN**

* * *

After Ren leaves I realise I have to work on my 'hopeless cripple' act. This means that I probably need to start crying, something which I have narrowly avoided doing until now.

It's not hard to get the tears to flow. I focus on my family – mostly Nan, on Ren, on other people I know. I imagine what it will be like to die. I think of their reactions when I come home in a coffin.

The trouble is, once I start crying it's hard to stop. I know I shouldn't be fatalistic. I have exactly one advantage, but it's a big one. Everyone underestimates me. People will look at me and just see the cripple, not see the boy who is determined not to die. They see the stereotype, not the individual.

Usually I hate this. I loath it with a passion. But for once, I'm glad. District Ten is going to get plenty of sympathy votes this year. They look at Kyra and see a twelve year old, not a fourteen year old. They look at me and see a cripple, not a person. And I'm using that to my advantage.

I'm going to do what Johanna Mason from Seven did a few years back. She appeared to be a snivelling baby who couldn't do anything. Everyone thought she wasn't a threat and completely ignored her until there were only a few tributes left. Then she showed her true colours, killed everyone else and won the games.

I just hope no one else has the same idea.

* * *

By the time the peacekeepers come to escort me to the train station I've stopped crying. You can see I've been crying, sure, but I'm not going to give the Capitol the satisfaction of watching me break down. I have far too much dignity for that. My way is better – I still look weak, but I manage to salvage some of my ego.

Kyra seems to have had much the same idea I have. She's been crying, you can see that much. Crying but trying to cover it up. Luckily she isn't weeping in front of the cameras. She's trying to be strong. Score one more sponsor for us!

Eventually we make it to the train. That is where I hit my first obstacle.

"Hey you," growls a guard, blocking my way in. "You have a district token, right?"

I nod mutely.

"Is it that stick? Because if it is, you might as well hand it over now. You won't be allowed to take that into the arena."

I shake my head, then realise he's still waiting for an answer.

"No," I say in the smallest voice possible. "No it isn't my district token, sir."

"Well hand it over then." The guard has a sadistic expression on his face. "One item per tribute only."

"But… But then I won't be able to walk." The boy I am pretending to be is about to burst into tears.

The guard is positively gleeful. "Too bad. Hand it over."

Reluctantly, I do. Then I stand there, not moving.

"What are you waiting for?" yells the guard. "Move it!"

Kyra, who has just gotten on the train, turns around to see what all the fuss is about.

The guard gives me a shove and I go flying. My arms windmill and I hop desperately on my left leg, trying to keep balance.

Another guard whispers something to the first one and they guffaw. I hate being the laughing stock of anyone, but I don't see how I can avoid it without blowing my cover and completely ruining my chances.

Well at least this will increase my sympathy points, I think trying to look on the bright side. There's no doubt that all cameras are on me as District Twelve's reaping would have finished about ten minutes ago. And god forbid the audience gets bored.

After what seems like an eternity of standing just outside the train, Kyra grudgingly takes pity on me.

"Come on," she says, "You can use me as a crutch. I'm about the right height, aren't I?"

I nod. And with Kyra's help I finally get on the train. The photographers take a few photos of us standing in the doorway before the doors close behind us and the train takes off with such a rush I am nearly knocked over.

Once I regain my balance Kyra and I stand at the door, staring at District Ten fading from sight in the distance. Some distant part of me admires the speed at which the train moves. I wish I could know how it works.

As the last of the buildings fades away, the enormity of the situation I am in hits me all at once and it takes all my willpower to stop from crying.

When I look back from the window, I realise that the two mentors and Theodora have come into the room with us. There are also several people wearing white tunics watching us silently.

Morgan is the first one to speak.

"We have a while before we arrive at the Capitol. You will be shown to your chambers. I suggest you wash and change your clothes. The rest of the time will be yours to do as you please. A meal will be ready in about an hour and a half. We will discuss things then."

Her voice is perfectly flat and her pale, lined face is completely emotionless. This is what the Hunger Games have done to her. Is this what they will do to me? I am determined that they won't, not if I have any say about it.

One of the people in white gestures to Kyra who with an apologetic smile in my direction follows him. I am left standing in the middle of the train, trying not to put as much weight as possible of my right leg to relieve my left without anybody noticing that crippled boy isn't really so crippled after all.

"Why are you still standing there?" Morgan asks me. "You were just told to go."

Yet again, her voice is eerily emotionless. She isn't even angry at me.

"Sorry, miss." I say, still in my humble little cripple's voice. "But the guards took my stick off me and now I can't move without hurting myself."

"Oh how thoughtless of us!" trills Theodora. "Of course you can't move! I'll make sure you have a proper set of crutches waiting for you when we get to the Capitol!"

She promptly hurries off to make the arrangements, forgetting all about my more urgent need.

"Oh for heavens sake," groans Ando. "Can't these Capitol people do anything themselves?"

Morgan's expression doesn't change but I detect a tiny hint of emotion in her voice as she hisses at him.

"Don't say things like that. Idiot! Do you _want_ to get us both killed?"

Ando looks suitably chastised as he apologises. It's not hard to work out who the senior mentor is in this arrangement.

He pokes his head down a corridor and yells at a white wearing person who is cleaning the floor.

"Hey You! Avox!"

The person looks around. So Avox is his name then. I must remember the face in case I ever need something from the servants. People always respond better when you know their name.

Ando continues. "As you can see, my friend here has a bit of a problem. Can you give him your mop to lean on?"

Avox nods and hands me the mop.

"Thanks," I say.

He doesn't reply. Talk about rude.

"I know it's not much," Ando says. "But it'll have to do for now." He gestures at a servant behind him. "Can you show young Lucas here to his quarters?"

The servant nods and beckons. With the help of my mop, I follow.

* * *

My quarters are amazing. Just the bedroom is twice the size of the one I share with Eoin at home. They consist of a humungous bedroom, a changing room and a bathroom. And what a bathroom it is. There isn't just a toilet like I'd expected there to be – there's also a huge shower (labelled with instructions) with an array of different soaps and even several bottles labelled 'Shampoo: for washing hair'. Wow.

I manage to spend about half an hour in the bathroom, trying out all the different soaps and shampoos. What? If the Capitol gave them to us, it's my solemn duty to waste as much as possible. Every little rebellion counts.

Afterwards I fish through the drawers until I find something decent to wear. In this case a pale blue shirt and some black trousers.

Then I prop my mop on the side of the bed and take what will be one of my only opportunities to walk properly. It's more exhausting than it looks, pretending to be more crippled than I am. It's more mental fatigue than physical fatigue. I hate relying on other people to help me. Oh well, if it gives me a better chance of survival I don't mind living through a week of humiliation.

My bed is amazing, I discover. It's really comfortable and soft, a far cry from my threadbare mattress back in District Ten. Unfortunately, thinking of my home district gives me another wave of homesickness. I pull out the carving that Ren gave me and lie there staring at it.

I don't know how long I lie like that, because the next thing I know I'm in the exact same position and someone's knocking on the door.

I get up, grab my mop and limp over to the door. It's Ando.

"Dinner's in five minutes," he says.

I shrug. "I'm ready, so I might as well come now. Can you show me the way?"

He nods and strides off down the corridor, in the opposite direction I came into my room from. I try to keep up, but of course it is a hopeless task. Luckily Ando waits for me at the door, or else I would be hopelessly lost. He pulls the door open and leads me through a room with soft looking padded chairs and a huge television screen. On the opposite end of that room is another door. He pulls it open and holds it out for me, so I'm the first to enter the dinning room.

The first thing I think is wow. I've never seen so much food in my life. In front of me there is a table laden with all sorts of food. I don't recognise most of it but all of the food smalls really good.

Theodora is already there, sitting at the head of the table and waiting impatiently for us. Hang one, isn't guiding the tributes around supposed to be the escort's job? When I ask after Morgan, all I get is that she's off to get Kyra. I take a seat and stare hungrily at the food. When is Kyra going to get here?

The minutes pass slowly. I'm about to ignore Theodora and start eating anyway when Kyra comes into the room from another door, yawning. Morgan is walking behind her with her face wiped clean of emotions.

About time! I think, and nearly say it too, before remembering that this is not the me I want people to think I am. Instead, I wait politely until Kyra and Morgan sit down and Theodora tells us we are allowed to eat. Kyra, I notice, has no such hesitations. Before the rest of us begin to eat she's already half through her first plateful.

The second I taste the food I too begin to eat like there is no tomorrow, much to Theodora's chagrin. She showers us with remarks about our manners throughout each of the many courses, each one more delicious than the last. There goes Morgan's chance of discussing things.

"Well look on the bright side," Ando tells Theodora cheerfully, after she's remarked on our 'disgraceful manners' for what seems like the hundredth time. "They're better than what I was like, by far. You seem to be getting forgetful in your old age."

Morgan gives him the closest thing to a glare she seems capable of mustering and Theodora sticks her nose in the air, retreating into wounded silence for the rest of the meal. I heard somewhere that the one of the worst insults you can give to someone from Capitol is to mention their age. It seems that Ando is extremely tactless, or extremely fearless.

But I think neither. I just get the feeling that he hates the Capitol as much as we do, maybe even more. He probably had one of the narrowest victories ever in Hunger Games history.

I remember Ando's games clearly. After the accident I had nothing to do but watch TV, and since the Hunger Games were in a few weeks I spent that entire time watching recaps. Ando's Games had been just a few years earlier, so they were on pretty often. Getting to the Reaping that year was a nightmare. Mum and Eoin had to carry me the whole way and any sudden movement would send waves of agony through my leg.

Ando's victory was simply decided by whoever was the smartest. The Gamemakers had had a field day with traps, setting the arena in an ancient ruin and the surrounding jungle. Poisonous animals and traps ran abundant. The cornucopia was in the middle of the building and the roof collapsed in on everyone who had stayed around to try to get supplies. One victim became half trapped under the rubble and stayed there, not moving, for days until he died. Out of those that were left, half could not get out of the ruins and died of thirst. Some of the others were killed by the many dangerous animals in the arena. I think there were only two deaths in the entire games where the victim was directly killed by another tribute.

In the end, Ando and his opponent met in the ruins. Ando had been in that particular place earlier and realised what the trap was, luring his opponent out onto some floor which would collapse underneath him, sending him into a pit of snakes. Unfortunately Ando came down with him, and it was just a matter of who got bitten first. Obviously, it wasn't Ando. Even with the Capitol's speedy removal of their victor, it's been rumoured Ando nearly died from the venom injected into him.

That lucky escape probably saved my life and that of my family. Thanks to Ando's victory, we had enough food to keep us alive until Eoin turned twelve nearly a year later.

After finishing off the last course I feel a little queasy and begin to regret not listening to Morgan's advice to take it slowly. It's a small consolation that little Kyra looks worse off than I do, running off to the toilet when she takes a bite of the last course, a humungous brown cake which we are told is called chocolate cake. I manage to find room in my stomach and squeeze down a large slice of the very delicious cake.

Then we go into the room Ando led me through earlier and relax in the armchairs – which are even more comfortable than they look. We watch the replay of the various Reapings, which isn't so good. I become more and more nervous as I watch my competitors.

District One's Reaping is the strangest. A sea of seventeen and eighteen year olds rushes at the stage, with the first boy and girl there declared the tributes. The girl instantly catches my attention with her beauty. She's not going to have any trouble at all getting sponsors.

District Two's Reaping looks normal, other than the fact that a huge boy rushes forward to volunteer with obvious glee. Their female tribute looks almost as brutal as the boy only she doesn't look as glad to have been chosen. Morgan says something about someone always volunteering unless the chosen tribute has been trained and is over sixteen.

The two tributes from District Three relax me a little. They both look even more pathetic than I do. Only they don't have the excuse of having a crippled leg. And I'm pretty sure that neither of them are acting.

District Four is exactly like Two only both the tributes volunteer. Neither of them stick in my memory – they're just your average Career tributes.

The boy from Five looks only slightly less pathetic than those from Three. The girl, on the other hand… She has red hair, a face that resembles a fox and an expression that looks like she's permanently up to something. She'll be one to look out for.

Six, Seven, Eight, Nine. Nothing out of the ordinary here, with all the tributes looking various degrees of pathetic and scared witless. One or two look relatively normal, and the boy from Seven looks like he might constitute a threat. None of the others stick in my memory though.

Then it's District Ten and time for my own Reaping. I've never seen myself acting, and am curious to see if my trick worked. It did. If I wasn't, well… me, I'd think that the boy on stage was a dead man walking. He doesn't look the most pathetic of all the tributes, however, a fact which I am glad for. Excellent. Kyra also does well, scoring almost as high as the boy from Seven on the Patheticness scale. She isn't crying, which is a good thing.

Unfortunately, my happiness comes to a halt when I see District Eleven's female tribute. She's twelve. It's hard to believe that she's even old enough to become a tribute at all. There goes any hope for sympathetic sponsors for Kyra. I might still be able to get some sponsors, but not nearly as much as I'd like. No. No!

I see a glimpse of a boy built as big as the boy from Two before the scene changes to Coal-covered district Twelve. I sit back, waiting for two tributes on par with those from Three.

They never come. First, there's another twelve year old. Like one of them wasn't bad enough! There go any sponsors I might have left. What happens next is even worse. An older girl runs after her, screaming her name. She jumps in front of the girl and volunteers.

The other boy from Twelve is in better shape than most of the others, but I hardly even notice. I am too busy thinking of how our circumstances could have easily been the exact opposite. I could have easily been the younger sibling forced to volunteer for the older one. I am jealous, jealous of a girl who I don't know. Jealous of someone who comes from the one district worse than mine. Because she has the one thing I do not.

An older sibling that loves her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the reviews, guys. It's good to know that more people like this fic - it gives me the motivation to continue.**

**Enjoy.**

**

* * *

**When I wake up the sun still hasn't risen. For a second I wonder where I am. Then I remember, and immediately wish I hadn't. There's no way I'm going to get any sleep now, so I get up and get dressed.

For want of anything better to do, I leave my room and wander down the corridors. My feet trace the path I walked yesterday to dinner. My feet… Hang on, I forgot my mop. Lucky nobody saw me.

I almost run back to my room then decide against it. Instead I walk back at a speed that means I can easily switch to a limp if I see anyone. Then I grab my mop and walk normally back the way I came. I don't even know why I'm walking, but I figure that it's better to do something than stay locked up in my quarters.

I reach the television room where we watched the Reapings and pull the door open, only to find that there's already someone in there. Ando's sitting and watching replays of previous games – of his Hunger Games, I notice with a shock.

"Hello Lucas," he says "come in."

I do.

"Oh, so you can walk," says Ando. "You've been plotting since the second your name was called, haven't you? Maybe we do have a chance this year."

Quickly I start limping again. I hadn't realised I forgot to fake it, which is worrying. I must be more careful in the future, I decide.

"Are there any cameras on the train?" I ask him.

"Nope," replies Ando cheerfully, as if he's unaware of what's going on onscreen.

I relax. My secret is safe.

"I still do have a crippled leg," I say. "But it isn't as bad as I'm making it out to be. You won't tell anybody, will you?"

"Not even Morgan?"

"Not even Morgan or Kyra. The more people who know the worse it is for me," I tell him firmly.

"Very well." He accepts my decision. "Though wouldn't Kyra already know?"

I hadn't though of that, but I shake my head. Better to be safe than sorry. We sit there in silence for a while, staring at the screen. I don't want to watch, but I'm unable to tear my eyes away.

"Why are you always so cheerful?" I ask Ando after a while.

"Why not?" he responds.

I think. "Well after what you've been through I'd expect you to be more…"

"Like Morgan?" he finishes.

I nod. "Kind of. But not necessarily like Morgan. Just… you know, less cheerful?"

He grins. "Well if I'm not cheerful, who will be? Certainly not Morgan, and not you or Kyra either. Someone needs to be the comic relief."

He pauses for a while and then grows more serious.

"Besides. I didn't have to actually kill anyone to win. Maybe I threw Aspen into that snake pit, but I didn't plant the trap. My hands are more or less clean, so I'm not as haunted by my victory as most of the others are."

Ando smiles again. "And being cheerful annoys the Capitol more than anything else. They've set it up so that even the victor suffers. They see me perfectly happy and they can't do anything about it. They hate it."

We watch the replay in silence for another few minutes. This isn't the whole Games, of course. What we're watching is the three hour highlights video that was made after the Hunger Games.

Ando is the one to break our silence this time.

"You're Tomas Haron's kid, aren't you?"

I nod. I can't bring myself to say anything else.

"I worked with your father. He was a good man. I heard about the accident, but I couldn't come round to help."

He gestures at the television, which is showing Ando sprinting through the jungle as fast as he can, with some kind of animal hot on his tail.

"As you can see, I was… otherwise occupied."

Abruptly, Ando switches the television off and changes the subject at the same time. Which is really annoying, because I wanted to hear more about Dad.

"You shouldn't be watching this. Not right before the games, anyway. It does wonders in lowering your optimism."

But what am I supposed to do? I can't just pass the time fretting over what's going to happen to me. Then again, Ando has a point. Watching all those deaths is just going to make me feel worse.

Ando sees that I'm not going to say anything.

"I'd try to get some more sleep if I were you. You're going to need all your energy tomorrow."

* * *

A few hours later, I realise that Ando was right. I thought that the arena was going to be bad, but this is far worse. There are some things I really, really hate. Being pitied is one of them. Losing my dignity is the other. It seems that the Capitol is determined to take the few things I have left after the accident away from me. Yet another reason I should hate them.

At the moment, I have been striped of my dignity entirely. I should probably forget it even existed – as they say, ignorance is bliss. I don't agree with that though. I'd rather be in a bad situation and know I'm in one than walk around with my head in the clouds. At least if you know the facts you have a chance of manipulating your situation to give you an advantage. If you don't know anything, then how can you hope to avoid your fate?

Then again, I don't think knowledge of my situation is going to do me any good for the immediate future. I don't see any way to get out of this torture that my prep team call 'getting you ready for your big day'. What big day? I'm going to be the laughing stock of Panem. Again.

To add insult to injury, this 'preparation' _hurts_. I should be used to pain, what with my leg and all, but this is different. It's pain mixed in with the utter absence of modesty.

I suppose I should be glad that two-thirds of my prep team is male, but considering the fact that my designer is supposedly called Vesta I have no hopes that it's going to be male. Have these people even heard of modesty? Or do they think that we're just animals to be played with, and therefore we don't care if the opposite sex sees us naked?

Well, I'll have you know that I'm human, thank you very much, and I do care about being seen naked. I might be able to put up with that simple indignity, but I'm also being poked and prodded in very uncomfortable places. And I've been scrubbed till my skin feels like it. Then they striped me of am my body hair, everywhere. And I mean everywhere. What's up with that?

Now Juno, the female member of my prep team, darts out the door to 'consult with Vesta'. Can't she at least bring the woman in to see me for herself?

Juno, a woman so covered in red she looks like she was in some kind of explosion at a paint factory, returns.

"Vesta isn't coming yet. She wants us to begin the first layer."

Uh oh. I really don't like the sound of that. The three members of my prep team – the two males are called Remus and Romulus, and are almost identical, just wearing inverted colours – put on some kind of masks. Romulus hands me another of the masks and helps me to put it on.

I wonder what the masks are for. It doesn't take me long to find out. Then Romulus, Remus and Juno each grab a bottle of some sort of body paint and spray it over me. The fumes spray my eyes, so I quickly jam them shut.

This is going to be as terrible as last year. Last year, the tributes were gargoyles. A few years before that, they took a page from District Twelve's book and were dressed up as quarry workers. Another year our tributes were simply a block of stone. Our district isn't as hard to work for as Twelve, who do coal, or Eight, who are in charge of livestock, but stone is still pretty hard. There's a limit to how much you can do with a block of stone. I hope I don't end up naked, like some poor tributes from District Twelve were one year.

After a while, the sound of spraying stops and I judge it safe to open my eyes again. My entire body is covered in light grey paint. Remus is in front of me brandishing a spray bottle. He pulls off my mask.

"Hold your breath," he says. "This won't hurt a bit."

I comply, and Remus quickly sprays some paint onto the part of my face that was covered by the mask.

"We need it all to be the same colour, you see" says Romulus. "Usually, we'd do your face by hand, but the foundation layer needs to be evenly coloured."

Juno goes to fetch Vesta while the twins prop a mirror in front of me. I am completely and utterly grey. Even my usually light brown hair is the same colour as the rest of my body. The only spot of colour anywhere comes from my blue eyes.

Juno skips back into the room, a tall woman with deathly pale skin and yellow hair following her. She's my designer then. She doesn't look too bad – after Theodora's pinstriped skin and Juno's red explosion, she looks positively normal. I dimly recognise her – didn't she do District Eleven last year?

"Come here, boy," Vesta says.

I come. She surveys me critically.

"Hmm. You're a bit small but you'll do."

It's not like I can help being small! Just because she hasn't gone hungry a day in her life doesn't mean the rest of us haven't! I nearly tell her this before I remember my cover. The thing's necessary and all, but sometimes I wish I was free to speak for myself. But there's no point dwelling on what might have been. I'm stuck playing the cripple and there's nothing I can do about it.

Vesta tosses me what looks like a stone rod but obviously isn't as she's able to throw it.

"Use this and follow me."

I limp after Vesta and we move into another room. The three members of my prep team follow.

"As you are probably aware, it is not easy to create costumes for your district," Vesta begins.

So she's one of those designers. Those who treat their charges reasonably well, if condescendingly. Those who feel an incessant need to explain everything. Those who love the sound of their own voice. Ah well, fine by me. At least she's treating me like I'm a human being, which is more than can be said for my prep team.

"You are going to be a stone carving. This means the texture of your skin must look correct, down to the finest minute detail. Your crippled foot presented a problem but I believe I have come up with the perfect solution."

She pauses, like she's waiting for something. Dutifully I ask her what it is.

"Your foot is going to look like fractured stone!" she exclaims, amazed at her own brilliance. "It's going to look like the person who carved you was unaware that there was a flaw in the stone."

"But what am I going to be?" I ask. Better just to humour her. "What is the carving of?"

"Have you heard of the game of chess?" Vesta replies.

I nod.

"Well, you're going to be a chess piece! The white king, to be exact. Isn't that wonderful?"

Oh how wonderfully symbolic. Firstly, king implies to the audience that I'm a champion. Next, the chess is a reference – which Vesta probably didn't mean to make – to how I'm a pawn in the Capitol's games. And the white king, which means I make the first move. Kyra's probably the black queen, implying how she's stronger than me because of my leg and also placing us on opposite sides of the court.

But I won't complain. This must be better than gargoyles. Or naked and covered in coal dust. Or dressed up like a pumpkin, which is what happened to Eleven the year before last.

For the next hour Vesta and the prep team work on my skin to make me look as rocklike as possible, drawing designs that look like the natural grain of the rock onto my skin. Then they help me into my regal looking costume and affix a crown on my head. The costume is made of a stiff fabric which doesn't move at all and seems to be made of stone, but it's not at all heavy. We seem to be finished just in time, for Vesta looks at the clock and gasps.

"Is that the time? We must hurry or else we will be late!"

We meet Kyra and her designer, a blue-skinned man by the name of Janus, by the elevator. As I predicted, Kyra is indeed the Black Queen. Her skin isn't black but is a far darker grey than mine and her style of dress is similar. She glares at me as we go into the elevator. I don't know what's wrong with her. Ever since she helped me onto the train she's been avoiding me as if I have the plague. It's not like my injury's contagious.

The elevator takes us down to the bottom floor, where the tributes will be assembled and loaded onto chariots for the opening ceremony. Most of the districts are already there when we arrive. We're just missing Seven, Nine and Twelve. When I look over at District Eight in front of me my feelings about my outfit become much more positive. Their designer obviously took 'livestock' far too seriously, and those poor souls are dressed up as cattle – complete with horns on their heads and bells around their necks.

The rest of the Districts arrive soon after. The more tributes I see, the happier I am about my own clothes. District Five's girl looks more fox-like than ever dressed up in copper and District Nine looks like they were covered in glue and made to roll around in a scrap metal heap. Nine is where all the metals come from, as well as some of the jewels, so usually they look like shivering carbon copies of District One. Obviously their designer decided to be original this year. Obviously it didn't have the intended affect.

"Try not to look too pathetic, please," Kyra says suddenly, as we are all waiting on District Twelve.

"What! Me, pathetic?" I'm in shock. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

She sighs. "Cut it out, Lucas. I know what you're up to. I did go to the same school as you, remember? It's a good idea, but no one will want to sponsor someone who looks too scared."

"Shhh," I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one overheard us. "Not so loud! Look, we can talk later, okay? Just somewhere where no one can hear us."

"Fine then." She glares at me.

"What is it with you?" I say.

"Nothing's with me," Kyra says. "I'm just trying to survive, same as everyone else. You can't afford to have friends in the arena."

I'm not so sure about that. If everyone knows you and likes you, then it's going to be harder for them to kill you later. Of course, I don't tell Kyra that. Instead, I say:

"Oh really? Then why did you help me on the train?"

Kyra laughs, but not in a kind way.

"I didn't help you because I like you. I don't. But unlike you, I don't like being a laughing stock. Some of us have our pride, you know. I felt sorry for you, too. Poor little cripple, afraid to show his true -"

That's it. I hate it when people feel sorry for me. I can't stand it at all. I know that Kyra's trying to wind me up, but I can't help going along with it. I do have my pride! How dare she suggest otherwise! I just know enough to put it aside for the moment, but Kyra's words just serve to make me want to forget my cover.

Then I realise what she's trying to do. If everyone knows what I'm really capable of, I don't stand a chance. Kyra just wants to eliminate one of her opponents. But I'm not going to let that happen.

"Shut up, Kyra. If you want to yell at me, do it later. But right now we're about to be on camera. At least try to look happy, if not for my sake for your own sake. Our impression here could affect both of us."

Kyra doesn't look too happy, but she knows I'm right, so she leaves it. Just in time, too. District Twelve is finally here and we're off.

* * *

Twenty minutes, two laps of the City Centre and one extremely boring speech later, I'm being helped off the chariot by Vesta who manages to simultaneously beam at us and send a venomous expression towards District Twelve. I don't see what she's so upset about. Sure, District Twelve got far more than their share of camera time but what they're usually dressed up in is by far the worst of all the Districts, so they deserve a little time in the limelight. And I didn't have to look interested during President Snow's speech – there was no camera on me to film my bored expression.

"Great work!" cries Vesta.

I'm not sure whether she's referring to us or herself, but her next comment reveals all.

"It's a pity that the newbie stole your fire, but you were good enough to get me promoted to a richer District next year."

Thanks, Vesta. So glad to know I matter.

Theodora arrives just in time to prevent Janus from also saying something stupid. Luckily Kyra's stylist seems quieter than mine is. Which is good, because most of these Capitol people seem to say something offensive every time they open their mouths.

After gossiping with the designers for a while, Theodora tells Kyra and me to follow her and strides off towards the elevators. We get in one with the team from District Seven. The two mentors seem to be good friends, as they immediately embrace and start chattering excitedly. Seven's girl stares at the ground but the boy catches my glance and rolls his eyes at me. I give him a half smile back.

And even though in a few days we will be enemies, the two of us are for now united in our contempt for the Capitol.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for the kind reveiws. I appreciate them very much. Just a reminder - this was writen before Catching Fire was released, so anything that conficts with what was in the book is pure accident. I hope you enjoy this chapter, although not much happens in it. Constructive critisism welcome, although you won't see an improvement for several chapters.**

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My quarters are even fancier than the ones on the train, if that is possible. They are probably the size of my house. Maybe even a bit bigger. They're far fancier than those that were on the train too. And there are hundreds of different knobs to turn and buttons to press. I foresee a very busy few days trying to figure out how these things work.

Not to mention training and trying not to think about my upcoming death / pity party. Oh joy.

Luckily, Dinner is directly after I finish washing all of the grey paint off, so I don't have too much time to dwell on what's going to happen. Good.

The greatest torture the Capitol inflicts on us is psychological, I realise as I'm tucking into the first course. For most of us what we find in the arena is far better than what we imagine beforehand. Not to mention what happens to the victors. I remember what Ando told me this morning. Morgan has lost nearly all of her power to feel. Ando hides behind a veil of constant cheerfulness – I'm not even sure if he cares whether the Capitol kills him because of something he's said. I remember the District Twelve mentor and his drunken dive off the stage at the reaping. For the first time, I think that it might not be so great to win.

My thoughts are interrupted by Janus asking me to pass him the gravy. I do. When I arrived here, I discovered that the stylists would be dining with us for the rest of the build up to the games. This is a mixed blessing. With three Capitol people here instead of one, Ando is less likely to say something that could get him killed. I need all the help I can get, thank you very much. I'd rather my mentor stays alive until the games. On the other hand: Three Capitol people. Need I say more?

The food is as good as last night's. The adults talk among themselves – in other words, Theodora, Janus and Vesta discuss the latest in Capitol fashions while Ando makes quips under his breath to whoever bothers to listen. In other words, Morgan and I, since we ended up sitting on either side of him. Kyra, sitting on my other side, just attacks her food like it's about to run off the plate. I eat slightly slower than she does but, like her, most of my focus is on the food.

We are nearing the end of the meal when Theodora stands up and addresses the mentors.

"I'm sure you have mentoring duties to get on with. We'd better leave you to it."

The three Capitol people leave the room, still chattering excitedly. The rest of us – me, Kyra, Morgan and Ando sit awkwardly for a while before Morgan decides to get down to business.

"Look. Do the two of you want to be coached separately or together?"

Why is she bothering to ask? Of course we want to be coached separately.

Of course, I can't be the one to tell her that. It's all down to Kyra. Knowing her she'll say together, just to spite me. Fortunately, lady luck seems to be on my side for once.

"Separately, of course," says Kyra, fixing Morgan with a 'did you even need to ask' look.

"Do you agree, Lucas?" Ando asks.

I nod.

"Very well," says Morgan. "In that case, I can coach Kyra and Ando can coach Lucas."

Why do I get the feeling that this has already been planned in advance? Oh well, it's not like I mind. I'd rather have Ando the incessantly cheerful as a mentor than Morgan the emotionless.

"I suggest we each take an hour to discuss strategy before bed. I'll be briefing the two of you before you begin training, but the exact specifics will need to be decided on by your specific mentor. Come along Kyra." And just like that, Ando and I are left alone.

"Have you seen the view?" Ando asks me. "It's spectacular, especially from the roof."

I don't see what this has to do with training and the Games but I decide to go along with him. Inexperienced he may be but Ando seems to know what he's doing.

"No," I say.

"Well you should. Come with me and I'll show you."

I limp behind Ando to the lift. Once I'm in he presses a button just above number twelve that I hadn't noticed before. The lift begins to rise and almost before I'm aware of it we're there.

Ando is right, the view is amazing. In the dark, all off the houses are lit up and they look just like stars sitting in underneath me. But I get the feeling that the view isn't the only reason Ando brought me here. Then the wind begins to blow and I realise exactly why. There's no way anyone would be able to hear us over that noise.

I lean against the railing and Ando leans next to me. Something has been nagging me ever since I saw the rooftop and I think it's time I get some answers.

"Ando," I say, "why do they even let us on the roof? I mean, it would be easy for someone to jump off and kill themselves. I don't think the Capitol wants us dead before the games, do they?"

"Look, Lucas." Ando says, "You're a smart boy, so know this: appearances can be deceiving. You of all people should know that. Take nothing at face value."

He holds his hand out.

"Can I borrow your crutch?"

It's the one I was given when I arrived at the Capitol.

"Sure," I tell him and hand it over, mystified at what this perfectly able-bodied young man wants a crutch for.

Suddenly, without warning, Ando hurls the crutch off the side of the building. I cry out in shock and alarm but Ando holds his hand out in a wait gesture. There is a flash of white light and the crutch is thrown back towards us. Ando catches it easily and hands it back to me.

"Wow," I breathe. "A safety net! I should have thought of that."

"Yes, you should have," says Ando. "But don't beat yourself up about it. It's better that you make these mistakes now than in the Arena."

He has a point. But this isn't what we're here to talk about, and he knows it. Ando's a great guy and all – I haven't known him that long but he seems to be one of the better mentors to be stuck with. At least he isn't drunk at every Reaping like District Twelve's. But I do wish he would get to the point. I'd like to get some sleep tonight.

Ando points over to the other side of the roof. "Have you seen the garden? It's amazing."

He leads me over to where there are plants growing out of pots. A garden indeed. We duck behind some trees on the edge of the garden and stand facing the entrance of the elevator that brought us here.

"This place, where we're standing at the moment, is probably the most secure place in the entire building." Ando says. "No, scratch that. It's the best place you will get to talk until you either die or have been back in District Ten for a few months. There are cameras out here" – I catch a glimpse of a flash of light off a metallic plate – "but the wind shorts out the audio. The trees hide the movement of our mouths from anyone listening and we can see if anyone else comes out here and stop talking, as well as having time to hide and eavesdrop. Knowledge is power, my boy. Never forget that."

"I won't," I reply. "I know I don't have the physical advantages any of the others have, but I'm not as bad off as they think. They will underestimate me, and that will be their undoing."

"Strong word Lucas. Strong words. But don't underestimate them either," Ando warns. "Two can play at that game."

"I won't," I tell him.

"Good boy. Now let's move onto the next item on my invisible agenda." He pretends to unroll a scroll and glances along it. "Training. I suppose you already have some ideas."

I nod. "I'm keeping up the act I've been putting on since the Reaping. I'm a cripple, not very strong. I walk with a very bad limp. People generally don't look past the foot."

"That sounds just about right," Ando says. "But don't seem too smart either. Tomorrow is your first day. Stay away from the weapons! At least on the first day. It's suicide for you to go near the cornucopia, so learn about edible plants and snares and how to find water. Try climbing. I read somewhere that a climber can use a bad leg like a tail to swing from hold to hold and build momentum. See if that works. Hiding in trees is always an asset. For you, knowledge is the difference between surviving and not."

Well that's cheerful.

"What do I do on the next day?" I ask.

"In an ideal world it would be weapons, but I know that may not be possible. Try to learn basic knife skills. There are usually knives of some sort in the arena, and they're one of the easiest weapons to improvise. Do you have any skills with any weapon whatsoever?"

"Not really." I think for a bit. "Although I am alright at hitting people with a stick. Would that help me?"

"Maybe. There's always wood. See if you can learn some club moves. Maybe some spear throwing. There might be a station on staff fighting but I doubt it." Ando's face lights up like he's just remembered something. "Hand to hand combat. Unarmed fighting. See if you can learn pressure points to cripple an opponent and put you on even footing, if you'll excuse my pun. But not on the first day. And if you feel like you're about to reveal your secret, then for goodness sakes don't do it. I trust your judgement about what you feel you need. But try not to overload your brain too much or else you'll forget it all."

It takes me a few seconds to take it all in but then I nod.

Ando continues: "If it comes to a choice between survival skills and weapons skills, choose survival skills. In a fight you will have a disadvantage once they get over their initial shock of finding out you aren't as crippled as you pretend to be. Okay. Now, during training try to pay attention to the other tributes. Analyse them. Learn each of their strengths and weaknesses. Use your own judgement about who will make it past the first day and pay extra attention to those tributes."

Wow. I thought Ando was inexperienced but it turns out he has more or less the same strategy opinions I have. This is good, of course. I'd hate to have a mentor whose ideal strategy conflicted with mine. Imagine what a pain that would be.

"Is that all you have to say?" I ask him. "Or is there anything else."

"Nope, that's it," says Ando, back to his usual cheerful self. "Nothing else you need to know." He pauses. "Only… Don't walk without a limp unless you're in your quarters. I'm pretty sure there are cameras anywhere else."

He's probably right. Lucky the Capitol respects our privacy – or do they? Probably there aren't cameras only because no one wants to spend hours watching someone sleep. The cameras aren't for people to watch us preparing, as our strategies are private, but just so that they can see that we're not up to anything.

Really, I don't see why they bother with the cameras. I mean, it's not like they don't have three people of their own in there anyway. I guess they don't trust them. They're scared they'll turn traitor. Though I don't see why anyone would. Living in the Capitol is the ultimate lifestyle. Really good food to eat, no work, all of those super awesome gadgets, twelve separate districts to do your bidding… If you add that to the fact that clearly most of them have no conscience, I really don't know why one of them would turn traitor.

Actually, Capitol life must not be the same for everyone. Or else why would we have those servants? Obviously they need the money. I'd say they were from one of the Districts, but they look Capitol. And I've already established that there's no way anyone would want to turn traitor, so there must be richer people and poorer people.

Still, even for the servants' life must be better than ours is. They look like they have enough to eat and the work isn't gruelling. Cleaning is far easier than working in the quarries or mines or orchards.

Typical Capitol. Where we were born affects our whole life. Be born in District Twelve, then grow shabby from coal dust. Be born in Eight, work with the animals. Be born in Four, become either a fisherman in safety or a brutal Career. Be born in One, be pampered but constantly reminded that the Capitol's better than you. Be born in the Capitol, have a life of ease and comfort but sacrifice your humanity. The worst thing is, none of the Capitol know what they're missing. They've been brought up on a diet of Hunger Games and selfishness and watching other people suffer.

But despite this, I still don't like any of the Capitol. Sure, they may have been taught to think like this since birth, but they could still think otherwise. Why didn't the citizens rebel, the middle class of the Capitol? The must have known that what they were doing was wrong.

I ask Ando this.

"I wouldn't know," he says. "History isn't my forte. You'd have to ask Morgan. She knows far more than I do. But I'd guess human nature. It's in the nature of people to be selfish and to care more about their own well being than the suffering of the others who suffer for it."

I think of Eoin and realise that he's right. Eoin was willing to sacrifice his brother, just so that he could be better off. But not everyone's like that though, I think, remembering Nan and how she protested against Mum and Eoin using me, despite the fact that she benefited from my extra teserae too.

Again, I point this out to Ando.

"Of course some people rebel," he says, his voice losing its characteristic cheerfulness. "Where do you think the Avoxes come from?"

"Avoxes? What are they?" I ask. But I have the sinking feeling that I already know the answer.

"The white clothed people who serve us," my mentor replies. "They were traitors to the Capitol. So they had their tongues ripped out and now act as slaves."

He looks like he wants to hit something. I agree. Just when I thought the Capitol couldn't get any worse. What's even worse is how I thought of them. I thought they were rude because they didn't speak. Now I realise how stupid I was and I feel ashamed. I remember Ando's earlier comment about appearances being deceiving and resolve not to forget it.

"That's really horrible," I tell Ando, like he didn't already know it.

"They're Capitol. Like they need a reason". He has a disgusted expression on his face. "Sorry. I hate thinking about what they've done. Come on, we'd better get inside. You're going to need a good nights sleep."


	6. Chapter 6

"You know the plan?" Morgan asks Kyra at breakfast.

Kyra nods, and sends me a smile that clearly says 'I am superior. My mentor is more senior than yours, and as such, I _know _what is going on'. I glare back at her. I have no idea how I'm going to be able to stand the next few days.

Ignoring my suddenly murderous impulses – I wonder if this is how the Careers feel all the time, although I know I wouldn't be able to kill Kyra, no matter how much I want to – I tuck into my breakfast. Along with the food is a dark coloured drink which tastes delicious. Smooth and sweet. Ando tells me it's called hot chocolate.

"Does Lucas need to know this plan?" Ando asks. "Because we already have a strategy of our own."

Morgan shakes her head. "You do what you think is the logical course of action."

At the same time, Kyra smirks meanly. "I bet they don't have a plan." She tells the room at large snidely. "I mean, there isn't much you can do with a _cripple_ like Lucas."

I really don't like the emphasis she puts on 'cripple'. It either means she knows what I'm up to, or it means that she's even worse than I thought she was. I'm hopping it's the second one – it will be easier to ignore her or even kill her in the arena if I don't like her, but when I think about what she said before the opening ceremony I have a feeling it's the first.

I sigh. "Look Kyra. I still don't know what you have against me, but can we talk later? I know a good place where we won't disturb anyone."

I hope she gets my message. Kyra doesn't seem like the smartest person in town. If she is, then why didn't she pick up that my little act is better for both of us? I hope she doesn't say something stupid in front of everyone else. Actually, I'd better see if I can talk to her now.

"Ando," I say, "When do we have to be at the Training Centre? How much time do we have? Where is it?"

Ando laughs. "Questions, questions. I'll answer them one at a time. Training starts in about an hour and a half. The Centre is underground. Traditionally, the escort accompanies you two to the Training Centre."

He glances wryly down the table. There is only the four of us from District Ten present; the three from the Capitol seem to have gone AWOL.

"Unfortunately," he continues, "Theodora seems to be… otherwise occupied. I'll show you what buttons to press and then you can go. Sorry I can't take you any further, but us mentors are forbidden from entering the Training Centre."

Morgan takes over, and for the next fifteen minutes or so we get an overview of what training will be like. She doesn't give us any specific advice. I wonder if the other tributes' mentors are taking a similar route or if their approach is totally different.

Oh well. Why bother wondering over something I'll never know the answers to?

Finally, Morgan releases us. We're free to do whatever we want for the next hour before the mentors (or Theodora, if she's back by then) will collect us to go to Training. I know what I want to do.

"Come on," I tell Kyra. "You want to yell at me? You feel like telling me what you have against me? Well come on. I know the perfect spot." In a quieter voice (but one that can still be picked up by the microphones) I say, "And maybe the view will mellow you out a bit."

She glares at me. Woops. She wasn't supposed to hear that.

Still complaining, Kyra follows me as I limp over to the lift. I wait until she gets in, then jab the button that says 'roof'.

"Are we even supposed to be up here?" Kyra asks nervously as we rise.

"Yes,' I say. "Ando showed me yesterday. I don't think there's any rule against it."

The doors open. Kyra steps out first. I limp after her.

Suddenly, Kyra spins around with an angry look on her face. "Oh, cut it out," she snaps.

I'm confused. "Cut what out?"

"Cut it out! Stop limping like that! We went to the same school for almost ten years. I know you can walk properly. You know you can walk properly-"

"Almost properly," I correct her.

"Fine," huffs Kyra. "Almost properly. Whatever. The thing is, we both know you can walk normally. So why on earth aren't you?"

She walks up to me and snatches the ever present crutch away.

"You don't really need this." She waves the crutch over the edge. "So why do you keep on using it? Walk properly, you freak!"

She drops the crutch. I contemplate telling her that it won't work, but decide against it. Kyra hasn't done anything to make me like her so far. In fact, she's done a lot to make me dislike her.

Sure enough, there is a flash of light and the crutch comes flying back at us. I try to catch it one handed, fumble the catch and end up dropping the crutch on the floor. Typical. But I don't let it bother me, instead Kyra with a smug I-knew-that-would-happen smile that I know will irritate her no small amount.

"You know Kyra," I say mildly. "There is a reason I'm acting like I am. It's for the good of both of us-"

"Yeah right," she snorts. "You really expect me to believe that? You're not helping us; you're hurting us. Do you really think anyone will want to sponsor a cripple? You're chasing all of our sponsors away!"

"What sponsors?" I ask her. "Do you really think anyone would want to sponsor us? Even without the exaggerated limp – I'm still a weedy boy with a disability. And it's not like you're any better. Face it – you're a weakling. I'm guessing no weapons skills whatsoever, and you aren't particularly strong or fast or agile. If it wasn't for me and my leg drawing in the sympathy votes, we'd be sponsorless."

Obviously my little speech has given Kyra something to think about, as there is silence for a full minute as she digests what I have just said.

"Fine," she concedes. "You might have a point. But I still don't like you – and if I see you in trouble in the Arena, don't expect you to come to your aid. Both of us can't survive, and I want to go home."

"I wouldn't expect you to," I say. I don't agree with what she's doing – Kyra's falling right into the Capitol's hands. It's not like I can do anything though, and I'd rather have a truce, no matter how shaky it is. "But can we just agree to not actively destroy each other's campaigns?"

Kyra nods. "It's a deal."

And we shake on it.

…insertbreakhere…

By the time Ando comes to fetch me for training, Theodora is still nowhere to be found. Instead, Ando and Morgan throw the two of us into the lift – Kyra looks very nervous, and I don't feel much better – and press a button. The doors slide shut and we quickly fall past the ten floors above ground and a few below.

We are nearly the last tributes there. Some other Districts are missing, of course – I can't see District Twelve or District Nine anywhere – but most of the others are already gathered around the room. Most of them are standing in a semicircle watching what's going on.

District Five's girl seems to have said something insulting to the boy from Two, as he has her pressed up against a wall. He seems about to hurt her but then his partner steps in.

I vaguely hear the words "No", "Cato", and "Arena". Cato must be his name, and the girl must be telling him to save it for the arena. Smart girl.

Cato mutters something. I can hear even less than before, but I make out the phrase "Kill List". For once I am glad about my disability – it doesn't seem like he'd be in a hurry to finish me off.

Soon the others arrive, and half an hour later we're sent off to start training. It's interesting to see what each of the tributes do. Predictably, the six Careers head straight for the weapons. They handle their chosen weapons with ease, in direct contrast to the few other tributes stupid enough to begin with weapons. Those tributes obviously hadn't been warned. They look tiny next to the Careers, and the intimidating manner of the Career Tributes doesn't seem to be helping matters much.

Then there are the smarter tributes. They head out to the non combative stations – climbing, knots, edible plants. There are a select few of us who remain standing in the centre of the room for a few seconds, trying to see what the others are doing. I am one of these.

Satisfied that I know what each tribute is doing, and mentally filling away the information – you never know when it might be useful – I head to the nearest no-fighting station. This one happens to be camouflage, and I'm the only tribute there. Apparently, disguising oneself isn't high on the 'things you must learn' list.

Half an hour later, I leave the station in disgust. Camouflage isn't my forte. I don't seem to have one artistic bone in my body. I head over to the water-locating station, where I seem to do much better. From there I head to another station, then another.

They stop us for lunch halfway through the day. We are led into an adjoining chamber. Tables piled with food line the room while empty tables are placed near the centre for us to eat at.

Most tributes eat alone, myself included. The only exceptions to this rule are the Career pack, who are trying to intimidate as many of us as possible, and Katniss and Peeta, the two tributes from Twelve. They arrived wearing matching clothes, which tells me that something is definitely going on up there in District Twelve. I just wish I knew what.

Of course, there are other Districts who stick together. The huge boy from Eleven – Thresh, I think he's called – sits at a table next to his District Partner's one and stands up for her when the Careers try to take food off her. The two from Six share a table, although they sit at opposite ends and refuse to speak.

The most curious case is District Seven's boy. He grabs some food, but doesn't sit down until the rest of us are all seated. Then he looks around to see who's alone. He chooses the girl from Nine, sits down beside her and starts chatting amiably.

The rest of us stare. District Seven looks up, waves and continues his conversation unperturbed. Before any of us can think about what's going on, Katniss and Peeta (both of whom have remained oblivious to the drama unfolding in the room) choose that precise moment to burst into laughter. Everyone – District Seven, Nine and the Careers included – moves their stares to District Twelve. At least the two of them have the grace to look embarrassed. Though they really shouldn't. Rebellion, and all that.

I'd admire them, if it wasn't so obvious that they weren't doing this by choice. Oh, it's not that obvious. They're pretty good actors. But like recognises like, and the two of them have had enough tiny slip ups that I can tell they're up to something.

Lunch is soon over, and we return to the Training Hall. I head over to the shelter building station. Then to another station, and another.

The next few days pass in a blur. They go by exactly as the first one did, with very few changes.

Sometimes during the second day, I attempt the climbing wall on a whim. I've heard that I can use my bad leg like a tail to help get more height. Unfortunately, this proves to be an urban legend. The second I put all of my weight on the leg I feel a stab of pain. Since the Lucas everyone thinks I am is crippled even more than I really am, I sink onto the floor clutching my leg. I stay there for a few minutes to keep the act up, then slowly rise to my feet and limp away.

After lunch the same day (District Seven sat with the boy from Three this time), I decide that it's safe to try weapons. I head for the long distance weapons, because frankly I'm at a huge disadvantage short distance. The first station is archery, which seems to be strangely abandoned. I have a go. Once I'm shown how to hold the bow, I'm not too bad. Not too bad meaning I can actually hit the target most of the time, after a bit of practice.

I have a go with the throwing weapons, too. Knives, spears, slingshots. I'm not too bad with a slingshot, although they're harder to aim with than a bow, and I managed to hit myself on the head while spinning it once or twice. The knives and the spears don't go as well. To throw them properly – especially the spears – I need to take a step forward. At top speed.

Now, I could probably handle this normally. But with my cripple persona still firmly in place, I know that there's no way I'm going to be able to do it without anyone getting suspicious. Of course, even if I could walk as well as I usually do, that's no guarantee I'd be good at this. Hitting a target with a knife or a spear or even a slingshot is far harder than with a bow. With a bow, you just point and shoot. With the others, it's a much more complicated routine before you manage to hit anything.

Despite the differences in stations, some aspects of the routine stay the same. Every night after training, Morgan takes Kyra away for some one on one mentoring. Ando and I had nothing else to do that first night, so we figured we'd do the same. We talk mentor to tribute for a while, but there's not much you can say about training. I have no idea how Morgan and Kyra manage it. So then I ask Ando about my father. He worked with him, so he has plenty of stories to tell me.

Finally, the third day arrives. It begins just like the other two, with the same routines. I focus on survival skills more than fighting techniques on this day – it's more likely I'll need them than that I'll need weaponry skills. I don't even know if I'll be able to find a weapon.

Mindful of Ren's last words, I find a staff fighting station and learn some basic routines. As usual, my arrival causes much dismay among the instructors. Luckily this instructor is adaptive and soon gets used to my crippled leg – he even gives me some pointers on how to keep my weight off it while fighting, which will probably come in handy.

All too soon, lunchtime arrives. I eat without tasting the food, trying not to think about my time with the Gamemakers. I have no idea what score I want to get: I know I probably can't get any higher than a seven, and going below a three is really bad for me. Even being the lowest, no matter what the score, is probably bad. Sponsors might give me sympathy, but I figure they'd only want to back someone with a chance, however small, of winning.

Before I even realise what's happening, Kyra is being called away. I'm next.

The wait seems to take an eternity. Finally, my name is called and I step into the room.

…insertbreakhere…

"So how did your session with the Gamemakers go?" Ando asks. It's about an hour after I stepped out of the room.

"Not too badly," I reply. "Not all of them were paying attention" – understatement of the century – "but enough of them were, I think."

"I should have warned you – by the time it's District Ten's turn, they don't really pay much attention."

I shrug. It can't be helped, and at least I know I'm not the only one who went through this. Kyra probably had as much attention as I did, and Districts Eleven and Twelve are undoubtedly worse off than I am.

"Anyway, please continue," says Ando.

So I do. I tell him how I managed reasonably well with the non-combative stations – well, not camouflage and climbing but most of the others. I tried a bit of archery, too, but that didn't go too well.

I shower and then it's time for dinner. Over dinner I rehash what I just told Ando. Kyra does the same, and it seems that her session went a little better than I did. Kyra seemed to have a surprising knack with a flail – while she's untrained and inexperienced, she picked the technique up quickly and will be a force to be reckoned with in the Arena. Unfortunately for her training score, she seemed to focus only on that and forgot to put the proper amount of attention to survival techniques. I have a feeling she's going to need to stay for the bloodbath at the cornucopia, which is never a good idea.

Soon the meal is finished and the seven of us head into the neighbouring room to watch the training results. The Careers are no surprise – their highest score is a ten, gained by both from Two. The lowest is eight, which is pulled off by the boy from Four.

Ironically enough, three people get a three. Even more ironically, two of them are from District Three. The other is the boy from Five. His partner, the sly red-haired girl who I've figured out is called Lysandra, gets double that with a six. The black-haired boy from Seven also gets a six as does the girl from Eight. District Seven's partner gets a five, as do both from Six and the boy from Nine. The boy from Eight and the Girl from District Nine get a four.

Then it's District Ten's turn. Kyra manages to get a five, much to her annoyance. She thinks out loud that with her unexpected weapons skill she'd manage higher, and just glares at me when I point out that generally the Gamemakers are looking for an assortment of skills.

The tables are turned when my score flashes up. It's a four. Not too bad, considering that I've still got the cripple act going. But Kyra still sees it as a reason to gloat, and gloat she does.

"What happened to your variety, cripple boy?" she asks me acidly. "There's no point knowing a little of anything if you're no good at any of it."

I just grit my teeth and refuse to rise to her bait, thinking that at least tiny Rue won't get much higher than me.

Why is fate always determined to prove me wrong? The thought's barely entered my brain when Rue's score appears on screen. It's a seven. I have no idea how she managed it, but apart from the Careers it's the highest score yet. Great. The midget wins yet again.

Thresh, the boy from Eleven, has his score next. He gets a ten, and I have to smile when I imagine how Cato and his partner (Clove, I just remember) will be gritting their teeth at someone who hasn't had any training getting equal with them.

District Twelve is next. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, considering how well they've done so far, both their tributes do extremely well. Peeta gets an eight, again equal with the Careers. But Katniss, the 'girl who was on fire' as the commentators seem to be calling her, is the star of the show. She manages to get an eleven. Eleven! That's just one down from the highest possible score. And no one, not even District Two, the strongest looking of the Careers, is able to trump her.

If only I knew what she did to get that, I think. Knowledge is power. Forewarned is forearmed. I hate not knowing things, and in the Hunger Games, what I don't know is what could kill me.


	7. Chapter 7

**So here is the next chapter. Not much else to say on this one. Other than the fact that I guessed what District Seven did and got it right. Enjoy.

* * *

**

I'm awakened by a rhythmic thumping on my door.

"Go away," I mutter "It's too early. Wake me up later"

Then I open my eyes and realize that it's light outside. Feeling sheepish, I walk to the window and fling the curtains open. The sun is high in the sky.

"Get up," yells Ando's voice from the other side of the door.

I get dressed and meet a beaming Ando in the dinning room. None of the females are to be seen. When I ask Ando about their whereabouts, he mentions something about Morgan preparing Kyra for tomorrow's interviews. Just like for the rest of training, Morgan is dealing exclusively with Kyra and Ando with me. Theodora is still off scrounging sponsors.

"Today is the best day of the games," Ando states, digging into his breakfast.

I pause and drop my cutlery. "Why?"

"Why not?" Ando tilts his chair back. "It's practically a day off." He sees me open my mouth and raises a hand. "No, don't say anything. Sure, I'm supposed to prepare you for your interview. But it won't take me a whole day, especially since I don't need to teach the cripple" – he uses finger quotes – "correct walking posture. Sitting yes, but that's a piece of cake.

"I don't know about you," he continues "But I'd quite like my day off to start early. So let's get cracking."

For the next several hours Ando prepares me for the interviews. He has a unique style of mentoring – at least according to him. I'm not sure what a reliable judge he is, of course.

I sit in a chair, and Ando sits opposite me, throwing as many questions as possible at me. Every so often he changes my posture or my approach. By the time lunch arrives, we've already gone through several different characters for me. It's pretty obvious that I'll be playing 'poor little cripple', but Ando still wants to make sure there are no other approaches we could take.

There are more takes on the cripple card than you'd think as first glance. Do I want to be quiet, or a loud, confident cripple who wants to show the world that he's as good as the rest of them? Do I want to act the imbecile or super-intelligent? Hopeful or given up? There is a multitude of choices ahead of me. I pity the others, who don't even have a defining attribute which narrows down their choices.

By the time Morgan strides into the room, Kyra trailing behind her, we've narrowed down my options. The plan is to go over them after lunch and refine them, then select the final option. Ando still wants to work on my posture, too.

"Why are you so cheerful?" Morgan asks Ando wearily. I get the feeling they've had this conversation many times before.

"Why not? It's basically a free day off."

"No it isn't," chides Morgan. "This is a very important day. The interviews have a very important effect on prospective sponsors."

"Yeah, yeah," Ando waves her off. "Very important. I know. But come on! This is way better than watching the games, or sucking up to the Capitol to try and get sponsors."

The two mentors argue for a bit longer. Neither of them win. After lunch my day continues as Ando and I try to find my perfect angle. Theodora pops in at around two and spends half an hour adjusting my posture. Like Ando, she's given up on adjusting the way I walk – although for a completely different reason.

After Ando and I settle on the angle – quiet but intelligent, which is more or less me anyway - I take a much needed break. As has become my ritual over the past few days I head up to the roof, praying that no one else will be there. An encounter with District Four's male tribute has left me scarred for life.

I step out of the lift and cross over to the fence line, admiring the view. I never get tired of gazing out over the glimmering buildings of the Capitol, so different from home.

"Hello, stone-boy." I hear a voice from behind me.

I whirl around, and find myself looking into the black-haired face of District Seven's boy.

"Hello, wood-boy," I return

He laughs. "Nice comeback."

There is silence for a few minutes, then District Seven speaks again.

"Nice view up here."

I look at him "Really?"

'No, not really." He says. "It's the Capitol: how can it be nice?"

"True."

Silence again. I break it this time.

"So, District Seven. Tell me. Why are you up here?"

"Why not?" he asks, and in that moment, he reminds me of my mentor. Absurd, really, as the two of them look nothing alike. But there is still some strange resemblance.

"You didn't answer my question," I tell him.

District Seven shrugs. "I dunno. Just wanted to see the view, I guess."

"You're a terrible liar," I inform him. "Tell me the truth."

"Damn," mutters District Seven jokingly. "And I thought I was getting better."

"You're not that bad, really. I'm just a walking lie detector."

It's true, too. Like can sense like. When you're as good an actor as I am you can tell when people are acting. I can tell that District Twelve aren't really as friendly as they'd like us to think, I can tell that there's something going on between the two from Two. I can tell that the girl from Four is nicer than she'd have people think, and that District One is actually scared stiff at the prospect of the arena. And I can tell that District Seven's lying – not that it's particularly hard. The guy's an open book.

Funny how that works. Acting. What would I be without it? I have no illusions about my skills; know that the four I received wasn't too far off the mark in terms of my abilities. But I also know people. How to read them and how to fool them. And that is what wins battles. Not fighting ability, not smarts. Sure they help – but on their own, they're useless. Without knowing people, without knowing which buttons to push to make them do what you want – not even knowing how they'd react when they're desperate – no one would have a chance.

I realise that I've become trapped in my own world and grin sheepishly at District Seven. I don't know what it is about him, but I've barely known him for five minutes and I already like him. He radiates some kind of aura of frank honesty and complete friendliness.

He's not going to survive a second in the arena.

"Oh, so that's your skill," he says thoughtfully. "No wonder."

Before he can patronise me – I've gotten very good at telling when people are about to bring up my bad leg – I change the subject.

"You never did tell me what your doing up here," I remind him. "So. Tell me. What are you doing?"

District Seven shrugs. "Who said I need a reason?"

I stare at him.

He relents. "Fine. I want to make friends."

I gape at him. Friends? We're trying to freaking kill each other here! I mean, I don't entirely agree with Kyra and her methods, but this guy is insane!

"I know it sounds stupid," says Seven, "But it's my only chance. There's no way I'd beat any of the Careers or even District Twelve or Thresh in a fight, not with their training scores."

Now I'm beginning to see his logic. By befriending everyone else, no one will want to kill him. It should be harder to kill someone you know and have talked to than someone you can explain away as a hurdle towards getting home, which is why Kyra seems to be trying to make herself hate me. So he's making sure everyone knows him and thus won't want to be rid of him. Maybe he will last a bit.

"I get it," I tell him. "But why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not," he points out. "You figured it out by yourself. You're smarter than you look, Stonemason."

"The name's Lucas, lumberjack," I say.

"Lucas Lumberjack? No – don't answer that. I know it's just Lucas. I'm the lumberjack here, not you. I'm Vincent, by the way."

I hold my hand out. "Nice to meet you, Vincent. What do you say to a deal? I won't kill you if you don't kill me."

He grins. "Not quite the way I'd have put it, but yeah. It's a deal."

"How many people do you have deals like this with?" I ask Vincent as we shake on it.

He shrugs. "I dunno. Both from Three, Seven, and Nine. Teagan - she's the girl from my district. The boy from Eight and the boy from Five. Rue-"

"The twelve year old from Eleven. Yeah, I know," I scowl.

"You don't seem very happy," observes Vincent. "What's up with that?"

"I don't like it. She's way to young to be in a thing like this. And-" I pause. "She's stealing my sponsors."

"I get it!" realises Vince. "The only way you're going to get sponsors with that leg – no offence" -added once he sees the look on my face- "is if they feel sorry for you. Add in a twelve year old to that equation and bam! No more sponsors."

"Got it in one. Now can we please talk about something less depressing?"

"Fine."

So for the next few hours, I end up becoming friends with someone from another District. It's actually very interesting to see how things differ from District to District. For example – Vincent makes a comment about 'Lucky number seven'. So I respond with "I thought it was thirteen."

It's a District Ten inside joke, which I then have to explain. See, we have two squares back home. There's the one used for the Reaping, which is simply known as The Square. It's where you go for the Reaping and if the Peacekeepers or the Mayor want to see you. Then there's the other, more used square, which holds the market – the District Thirteen Memorial Square. Of course, none of us locals call it that. The square has a number of different names. The two ones relevant to my comment are Glad We're Not Them Square and District Thirteen, Those Lucky Buggers Square, used interchangeably depending on the current monetary status of the user and how close it is to the Hunger Games.

I enjoy my time on the roof. It's the most relaxed I've been ever since the Reaping. Eventually though, the sun goes down and Vincent and I both have to return to our own floors. We have a long day ahead of us, after all.

* * *

On the day when I have nothing else to do, standing still while three humans who resemble a bunch of annoying insects buzz around me is my first choice of things to do. Note the sarcasm.

The prep team is okay, I suppose. I seem to have gotten used to them. It's Vesta that's the problem. She arrived this morning furious at someone named Hestia, and seems to be taking her anger out squarely on me. And the rest of the prep team, too. But mostly me. Luckily she calms down after a few hours and the rest of the day passes relatively quietly.

After what seems an age I finally get given my clothing for the interview. Vesta's staying relatively conservative, so I get a dark blue suit with swirls of lighter blues and greys that echo the patterns on rocks. There's also a bit of glitter on as well and a matching crutch. When I meet up with Kyra she's dressed similarly, in a body-hugging black dress with swirls of silver.

Not long afterwards it's time for the interviews. I have to say, I'm actually sort of looking forward to mine. Not to mention everyone else's. Sure, some people may be putting on a façade. But most tributes choose to be similar to who they really are. As they say, knowledge is the key.

* * *

Sitting in my seat in the arc of tributes, I feel distinctly less confident. Luckily, I know stage fright; I get it every time Ren and I try something new back home. I also know how to deal with it. I take a few calming breaths and by the time blue-haired Caesar Flickerman calls up the District One girl, Glimmer, my butterflies have all gone.

It's not hard to tell what angle Glimmer is playing up – her golden dress is almost entirely translucent. Her partner is arrogant, something that doesn't seem particularly hard for him to do. Likewise, the two from Two play the brutal killers with ease. I know from experience that the closer a character is to your personality type (with a few exceptions – too close and you forget to stay in character) the easier it is to slip into their role. I have a feeling that none of the first four tributes are pretending to be something they're not.

The next four tributes are nowhere near as good. District Four tries to copy Two with the brutal act, but watching them I can tell that they – the girl especially – are nicer than they'd want us to think. If a Career's going to win this year, it won't be one of them. There is one thing that catches my attention, though. Both tributes from Four (Varia and Arturo) mention that they are from "The District of Kai and Rhea". What does that mean? I make a mental note to ask Ando about it later.

The next good act is put on by Lysandra, the girl from Five. She acts sly and elusive, with her fox-like features giving added reality to her performance. Unfortunately, her partner (Alex? Alecto?) is nowhere near as good.

District Six and half of seven fly past. They're average, not as good as Two or the girl from Five but much better than Three. Then it's Vincent's turn. True to form, he's the Vince I've gotten to know – happy-go lucky, honest and cheerful. The next noteworthy performance is of the girl from Nine, who looks like a natural performer with the way she keeps the audience spellbound.

All too soon, it's Kyra's turn. She gives an okay performance, although I have to admit I'm not entirely sure what her angle is. Then it's my turn.

I think I've managed to gauge the patterns of the questions, somewhere around the boy from Three's turn. There'll be something about the Capitol and first impressions. Something about training and strengths and weaknesses in the Arena. Another question about what I felt at the Reaping. Something about my designer, and another, personalised question.

"Hello, Hello," Caesar beams as I make my way slowly onto the stage. "Have a seat, Lucas. No, I don't mind. Take your time."

So I do. It helps to keep the act going, after all. Once I'm seated, the interview begins.

"So, Lucas, the Capitol must be very different from District Ten?" It sounds like a question, but I'm not sure if it is. I nod, just to play it safe.

Caesar continues. "What's been your favourite thing so far?"

Luckily, I have an answer prepared. "The lifts," I say quietly.

"The lifts?" Caesar raises an eyebrow, waiting for more.

"I'm on the tenth floor of the building. Do you know how hard it is to get up stairs with this leg?" I gesture to my right foot. "Does anyone know who invented elevators? Because seriously – you should give them a medal."

There is some laughter from the audience. Flickerman waits until it dies down before addressing me again.

"So that's what you've been enjoying the most. I would have named your stylist; you looked brilliant on opening night, and you still do now."

Up in the stands, Vesta beams.

"But that's only my opinion," he continues. "What do you think about your outfits so far?"

I shrug "What can I say? Vesta's been good. I loved the symbolism with those chess pieces."

Luckily the Capitol seems immune to sarcasm, as nobody takes my remark the wrong way. I see a few tributes – mostly those who have already gone – grinning to themselves.

Caesar obviously doesn't want to press the issue and he continues –surprise, surprise – onto training. "You got a pretty low training score. A four, wasn't it? How do you feel about that?"

"How should I feel?" I ask him. "I'm just happy I wasn't the worst off. What with my leg and all, I guess I should be pleased I didn't get a one."

"True, true. How do you think you'll do in the Arena with such a low training score?"

"I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Caesar gives me an exaggerated pout. "Please? Not one tiny little titbit?"

I give in. "My right leg might not be able to work, but my left leg's become stronger to compensate. So watch out – I have a wicked left kick."

It's partially true. My left leg has become stronger than the average person's to compensate for my weakened right one, but I have no intention of using it to kick people. That would mean I have to put all of my weight on my weaker leg, and after a few days with no rest that will _hurt_.

Caesar beams at me, makes a few comments and then moves onto his next question, which turns out to be the tribute-specific one.

"While we're on the topic of your… disability, do you mind if I ask you a more personal question?"

I know what's coming next, and true to form Caesar asks me how I became a cripple. Honestly, I should have known this from the start.

I don't particularly want to talk about. But you can't keep the audience waiting, so I give an abbreviated version. I explain how I went down to the Quarry one day to give my Dad his lunch. How there was a sudden rockslide that buried my father and crushed my legs. How the other workers pulled me out but didn't reach my father in time. How they didn't think I'd be able to walk. Lastly, I add a little extra detail that isn't true – that they thought they'd have to amputate my leg. It'll be good for gaining sympathy, after all.

The rest of my interview passes in a similar fashion, and I return to my chair, satisfied with my performance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Yet another update. Thanks to all you reviewers. Only a few chapters to go now...

* * *

**

I return to Level Ten, my mind still reeling. So now I know what District Twelve is up to. I don't see what good it would do, though – only one tribute can win. But I can safely say I did not see that tactic coming. Who would have thought it? District Twelve – the poor, pathetic coal mining District – actually have a plan for once. Well good on them. Anything that takes points away from the Careers has got to be a good thing.

The stylists, escort and mentors arrive a bit later and offer that we watch the replay of the interviews. I decline. There isn't anything else I can learn from the interviews that I haven't already, and I want to at least try to get a good night's sleep. Kyra has other ideas and wants to watch it.

I don't care, honestly. If Kyra wants to watch the replays then fine. I'm not stopping her. I'm just about to head up to my room when Ando stops me.

"Lucas - can you wait a moment? I need to talk to you."

Ah yes. Ando's final mentoring duty. We go down to my room where Ando closes the door behind him and begins to talk.

"This is where I'm supposed to give you my final words of advice," he informs me, cheerful smile contrasting with the barely veiled bitterness in his tone. "So here they are: stay alive."

His grin widens. "Seriously though, please try to stay alive. Don't linger at the Cornucopia. Don't take offence at this, but there's no way you could survive the bloodbath."

Like I would be dumb enough to stay, anyway.

Ando continues, "I don't care how tempting it looks, just get out of there. Once you've managed to get away, look for a source of water. We probably have enough sponsors to send you a bottleful, but that should be about it. It doesn't matter, though – find water anyway. You could probably live for the entirety of the Games on little food, but if you don't have water for three days then you're dead."

I take in all of what he says then nod. I will obey his orders – they're just common sense. And it's good to know that evil incarnate – sorry, Rue – hasn't stolen all the sponsors that are rightfully mine.

"Ando?" I ask him hesitantly. My mentor pauses halfway through the door and looks at me, questions in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"If… if I don't make it, can you say something to my family?" I pause but don't let him say anything. "Tell Nan – she's my sister – that I love her and tell her to make something of her life. Tell her I don't want her working as a housewife all her life. She can do much more. Say hi to Mum and Eoin. Tell my family what you told me, about Dad. Sorry for all this pressure."

"It doesn't matter," he says. "It's fine."

Why did I bother asking? I bet he's used to it, by now. Used to the tributes who are about to die asking him to give one last word to their grieving families.

"And if you can find Ren – she's the girl with the crippled father, the one who makes those wooden carvings?"

Ando nods, recognition sparking in his face. Almost everyone knows Ren's Dad, even if by reputation only.

I continue. "Can you tell her to keep on smiling? To keep on busking, too. Tell her I wouldn't want her to live in misery all her life."

Ando inclines his head. "I will tell them, Lucas. Sleep well, and good luck."

"Thanks."

He leaves. There's no way I'll manage to get to sleep, I think. I try anyway, and am rewarded because eventually I manage to fall into slumber.

* * *

I am shaken awake at the crack of dawn and forced upwards onto the roof by Vesta, who seems to hate being awake at this "ungodly hour". The actual Games won't start for a while, as the audience hates getting up this early, but the preparation in the Stockyard - sorry, Launch Rooms and transportation to the Arena takes a while.

After getting a rather painful injection which contains a tracking chip, I settle back to enjoy the ride. Until the windows black out fifteen minutes before impact, I spend the flight with my nose glued to the window. I've never seen the view from a hovercraft before and I find the numerous folds of the land fascinating, as well as my brief look over the Capitol.

By the time I get ushered into my Launch Room, my stomach feels like it's exploding with butterflies. Vesta ushers me into the shower, and sits down in the main room reading a very colourful magazine covered in images of women wearing the Capitol's ludicrous fashions.

I have a few hours left. Good. I might as well try to relax. To try to calm me down, I take a while in the shower and make sure to waste every single one of the Capitol's bottles. When I step out, I don't bother with the fake limp. The only person who'll see me is Vesta; it's not like she'll be able to tell anyone till I'm already in the Arena and my secret's out. The leg needs a warm up anyway.

Vesta reacts as expected, but once I'm out and she's calmed down, she helps me to dress in the clothes I've been given. I make a point of studying each item. The boots are good – they have good support for my foot, and they look and feel easy to get around in. The green colour makes me think that the Arena will be some sort of forest, although it could be a red herring. I guess I've got to be grateful for the functional clothing – one time the tributes had to go around in orange jumpsuits, and another time the poor things had a loincloth and not much else.

The belt will come in handy, although technically it could probably be used as a weapon. But the thing that has me the most worried it the black jacket. If they're giving us protection against the cold, it will be very cold. I _hate_ the cold. And if it will be cold, chances are the green's just to make us more visible against white snow. That's exactly what I need. Note the sarcasm.

Finally, Vesta hands over a familiar statue with a red cord tied through the centre. I take it gratefully and put it in my pocket. While my token thankfully passed the review board, I learn that there were several close calls and that District One's girl had hers taken off her, though I don't find out why.

We still have a while left, so Vesta offers me food. I accept, surprised by her uncharacteristic kindness. Then I learn that all stylists have to offer food so that a kind hearted offer won't give someone an unfair advantage. A full stomach can help someone last longer without having to delve into the supplies which are provided.

I take a moment to reflect on the unfairness of the situation. People like me, we're just cannon fodder. I'm smaller than everyone else, and without food I get even less of an advantage. Of course, there's no way I'd be able to survive the cornucopia, even if I hadn't had that block of stone dropped on my foot years back. Short of smuggling food into the Arena, there's no way I can get any food but whatever berries and roots there might be in the arena.

Wait a second. Smuggling food? No, there's no way anyone would be able to get away with that.

Or is there? No, there isn't so I'm not even thinking about it…

But it's my only chance…

There's no way I'd be able to get away with that…

Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there? And what's the worst they can do to me if I'm caught? Kill me? Well if I don't have food, I'm dead anyway.

I might as well go for it.

I glance over at Vesta whose head is still buried in her magazine. She wouldn't notice. Slowly, I ease my district token out of my jacket pocket and slip it around my neck, and then check to make sure that there's no visible bulge left around my chest area. I'm not a girl, who have convenient bulges to hide the token though, so that plan fails abysmally.

I'm going to have to take as much food as I can stuff into my pockets without the bulge growing big enough that it's obvious I have something other than my district token in there. In the end I settle for a dozen crackers, as they're thin enough that I can fit them in easily and invisibly, a few squares of chocolate and a small bun of bread.

It appears I've made my decision just in time – I've barely finished cramming food into my pockets when a voice comes on over a loudspeaker, telling me to stand on my metal launch pad. I do. Glass walls fall around me, and I begin to rise. I'm in the dark for fifteen seconds.

When I am finally pushed out I'm blinded by the intense sunlight. I can smell pine, which is good. My earlier guess was correct. Then I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice announce the beginning of the Hunger Games and look around me.

There's the Cornucopia, of course, a horn made of gold with sunlight glinting off it. Its open mouth is spilling with supplies which are scattered everywhere between the opening and the ring of tributes. They decrease in value the closer they get to us – barely a metre away from me is a folded sheet of plastic with a packet of dried fruit sitting on it, whereas there are packs closer in and the weapons are all even closer to the cornucopia.

This is all very well, but I'm not intending on heading that way so I don't waste too much of my sixty seconds looking at it. My major concern is the Arena itself – what sort of environment have they placed us in this year?

A look around reveals it to be positive. Directly in front of me the land juts down steeply, maybe even in a cliff, and I gain a glimpse of corn fields behind it. To my left is a large lake, surrounded by forest. To my right and behind me is pine forest, although the underbrush is thicker than I'd expect. That's where I'm going to run, I think, surveying the ring of tributes.

Little Rue is standing right next to Cato. She doesn't have a chance. Kyra is directly opposite me, eyeing up a flail I can see perched on a pile of supplies. Vincent is next to me. I glance over and we exchange half smiles, before looking back at the cornucopia.

I know it's foolish, but I don't think I can leave here without _something_. Just one or two supplies could be the difference between living and dying. So I get ready to run, just as the gong goes off.

I react a split second after the signal, stepping forward with my left leg and scooping up the plastic sheet and the bag of fruit. Then I spin on my heel and run towards the trees, as fast as my feet can carry me.

Despite my new and improved speed now that I can use my leg as much as it's capable of, my disability means I'm not going to be winning any races in the near future. But that's just fine. I'm still faster than people expect me to be, and nobody will want to pursue me and miss out on all the goodies at the Cornucopia.

The rest of us fleers will be unarmed and will have made a tactical decision to get away with little or no supplies. That also means no weapons, or none that they know they have at the moment, anyway. And, like me, everyone will simply wish to put as much distance between here and there as quickly as possible. That means that I'm relatively safe; nevertheless, I keep running for fifteen minutes until my lungs give up, only pausing to pick up a sturdy looking fallen tree branch. It isn't the most ideal stick, but it'll have to do for now.

I might as well stop for a rest now – It's too early for the bloodbath to be over and the rest of us not present there won't want a confrontation. Just to be safe, though, I continue walking for another fifteen minutes before finding a sheltered place between three bushes to rest. The only way anyone could see me is either from above – and I have no idea how anyone would be able to get into those un-climbable trees, or from ahead of me, and no one who wants to kill me would be looking for from there.

Or that's how I justify it to myself anyway. The way I see it, if I see danger everywhere I might just end up dead from exhaustion. I might as well take a few rests where there's minimum risk involved.

So I pull my smuggled food out of my pockets – again, minimum risk. While there will be cameras on us fleers, simply to show the audience we're alive and well and uninjured, most of the viewing will be on the bloodbath. If I get caught with the smuggled food, oh well. Worst case, they kill me. I'm a realist. Even with all of my scheming and acting to give me an advantage, I'm not the most likely candidate for victor. Sure, I'm smart. I'm not too modest to admit that. But smarts aren't enough. You need strength, skill, speed… and maybe a tiny bit of luck.

Strength – nope, sorry. A poor diet and naturally weedy frame will do that to anyone. Skill – as an actor, yes. As a fighter – I know how to whack people over the head with a stick, something most people know how to do. Not much else. Speed – I think my crippled leg's taken care of that one. Though I was fast before the accident, and I know I'm faster than most people think. Luck? If I was lucky, that boulder wouldn't have crushed my leg or killed my father. If I was lucky, would I be in these Games at all?

I take an inventory of what I have. About ten crackers, a few squares of melting chocolate, a bread bun, and a packet of dried fruit. As well as myself, my clothes, a tree branch and a sheet of plastic. Not too bad – it's better than nothing. But not too good either. Those who survive the battle at the Cornucopia will have much more at their disposal.

Oh well. I don't have time to dwell on that. At least I'm not one of the dead. I place all of my food in the centre of the plastic square and manage to tie it into a bundle. This bundle is tied around my new stick. It probably isn't as efficient as a pack, but it's better than worrying about things falling out of my pockets. I eat the chocolate. It won't last much longer in this heat and I might as well have the energy.

There. Now that I've made an inventory, I can decide what to do next. The most important thing is water. All of this food is great, but it won't be much help to stop me dying of dehydration. Ando said he could get me some, but honestly I don't know when he'll be able to send it to me or how long it'll last.

I need to find a source of water. Knowing the Gamemakers, the lake will probably be the only source in the Arena. But if I head back there they'll kill me. What to do, what to do…

Then I realise that there is more than one way to get to the lake. It's not a good idea to head back to the Cornucopia, sure. But while one shore of the lake is easily accessible from the grasslands of the tribute circle, the rest of it is surrounded by forest. If I can get to that forest, then I have an easy source of water as well as a good hiding place.

To get there, I need to cut to my right and backwards. I think I'm reasonably safe – while the battle may have finished, traditionally the Careers spend most of the first day getting their gear and alliance in order and only begin their tribute hunt at nightfall. So I set off.

I don't run, deciding that my leg still isn't used to being in use all day after the week of overemphasising my limp in the Capitol. I walk through the forest, keeping all of my senses on full alert in case I meet anyone else.

I needn't have bothered. It takes me a while – I don't know how long -to reach the edge of the trees, by which time I've stopped several times to pick berries I recognise from the edible foods station back in training. I still don't have much food though, and I know I'm going to feel hungry for a few days.

I've misjudged where I need to go, although I suppose I'm lucky I'm at the edge of the trees looking out into the Cornucopia and not lost in the wilderness. I also suppose I'm lucky that there's a rather dense looking bush a few metres to my right, closer to the lake. I quickly move behind it, before any of the tributes at the scene of the battle see me.

The battle has ended. There are six tributes sorting out the supplies, which is expected; all six of the Careers generally make it through the day. But at a closer glance I find out I am wrong; there are only five Careers there. There is tall, blond Glimmer from District One, and her arrogant counterpart whose name I have forgotten. Big threatening Cato is also easy to spot, the smaller but no less threatening Clove standing by his side. Then there's someone with dark skin from Four – as both Varia and the boy (his name starts with A - Alecto? Arturo? Apollo?) have short hair, I cannot tell who is who at a distance.

But instead of being also dark skinned, the last tribute is pale and blond. There aren't many blonds in the Games – at least in my District, non-brown features are a mark of richness, which means they need to take less tesserae and thus have less chance of being picked. I think it's the same in most others. I quickly run a list of blondes through my head. The two from One are already down there. There's the girl from Nine, but she's female and this figure has short hair.

Then there's Peeta, from District Twelve. But it can't be him! He declared he loved Katniss on national TV. How could he betray her – for teaming up with the Careers surely counts as a betrayal? Unless… unless he had no choice. Unless they threatened to kill him if he didn't help them catch her. But still, if he loved her he'd give his life for her, wouldn't he?

I've just resigned myself to staying behind this bush (to get where I want to go there's a piece of very thin forest I have no hopes of getting through unnoticed) until the Careers have their attention diverted by something – a decision to go off hunting (hopeful not in this direction), a meal, another tribute, anything – when I hear a female voice yell out "You can't!"

The Career's heads all turn in that direction and I take my chance to slide backwards out of the bush and continue my journey. I sprint until I'm out of sight and then slow down to a run. A few minutes later I stop for a rest, panting and wishing I had some water.

I'm surprised when a small silver parachute falls out of the sky to land at my feet, almost immediately followed by another, smaller, one. The first parachute contains a bottle of water, with a hook on it to attach to my belt. The smaller one is a bottle of iodine for purifying water. I wrap it in the parachute and place it in my plastic bundle, very grateful to my sponsors. Neither of these are particularly expensive, especially not on the first day of the Games. But they still will have cost Ando and Morgan a lot, and it must have taken money away from Kyra.

At the thought of Kyra a lump forms in my throat. The fact that I've gotten these gift probably means that Kyra is dead, died in the bloodbath. We didn't particularly get along, but she was still my District Partner and now she's dead. The reality of the Hunger Games hits me like a punch to the stomach. At home, what happens is terrible but it's happening to someone else. Even in these Games, I hadn't realised the full horror of them. Until I found out Kyra died.

I'm thankful for the supplies – I wouldn't be able to survive without them. But my gratitude is tinged with sadness, for they mean the death of my comrade.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to anyone who's read so far. Reviews are always appreciated.**

**A section in this chapter has been adapted from Caisha702's fabulous fic **_**A Fox's View**_**. If anyone hasn't read it, I highly recommend you do.**

**That's about it. Enjoy the chapter.**

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Vincent is dead. That's the first thing I register when I look up into the sky. I didn't know District Three at all, and I'm surprised the boy survived. District Four's dead boy is old news – and the only good Career is a dead Career. District Five's survived girl is as predictable as their dead boy. Both of District Six died, but I can't say I didn't see that coming. Ditto for District Nine.

It's only the first day, and already eleven tributes are dead. It's so… sudden. I mean, I was eating lunch in the same room as them only a few days ago. I didn't even know them very well, but I still knew them. And what about Kyra? We didn't get on very well, but she was still Kyra. I knew her better than I knew any of the others. We went to school together. Sure, I barely even noticed her until we were both picked at the Reaping, but she was in Nan's year.

And what about Vincent? I only knew him for a few days, but he was the closest thing to a friend I had here, and now he's gone. It seems that even his charm wasn't enough to help him survive the first day. What was he thinking, running off into the Cornucopia? I though Vince was smarter than that. He must have seen some kind of weapon that would be his difference between living and dying, but didn't get there in time. That's probably why Kyra died too. I remember seeing her eyeing up that flail back when we were still on our metal plates.

I crawl under a bush to spend the night. It's not the safest or most comfortable place I can find, but I can't climb and it's better than sleeping out in the open. Soon it becomes bitterly cold and I curl up into a ball, trying to conserve body heat. The jacket helps a bit, but not anywhere near as much as it's supposed to. I really want to light a fire, but I'm not stupid. I know that to do so will be suicide. So I just curl up tighter, grit my teeth and try to bear it.

I think I manage to doze off for about an hour. When I wake up, it's still dark but I see this reddish glow on the horizon. Some idiot actually started a fire. I can't believe it. Luckily, they're quite far away from here. So this should be good for me. It'll lure the Careers far away from here.

I wait for about another hour and nothing happens. Maybe the idiot'll actually get away with it! Then there's a blast from the canon. Or maybe not.

Soon it gets light, and I crawl out of the bush, stretching stiff limbs. The bush was a pretty good hiding place, but extremely uncomfortable. I reach up to pull leaves and mud out of my hair then decide against it. Considering my abysmal results in camouflage, this might be the closest I get to blending into the environment. And if I'm not photogenic, so what? Will it hurt the Capitol's sensitive little eyes?

Yes, I'm bitter. What, for no reason? They just killed off two of my semi-friends and nine –woops, sorry, ten – living, breathing people. And chances are they'll kill me off soon as well. If not me, then eleven more human beings.

Sure, I should be angry at the Careers too. After all, they probably killed every single one of those people. Or most of them. It was Thresh or Katniss (they're the two strongest non-Careers) or maybe Peeta who killed Arturo. After all, why would they agree to ally with him if he hadn't proven himself somehow? And why would Varia kill her district partner? And why would Clove or Cato or District One kill off a possible ally this early in the Games?

I go through my supplies again. There's the plastic sheet and the stick. The water bottle, which will need refilling by the end of the day, and the bottle of idodine. And what remains of my food. I eat a few pieces of dried fruit and half the bread, which leaves me with some crackers, a mostly full packet of dried fruit, half a bread bun and a couple of handfuls of berries.

I'd probably better go see if I can find some more food. This won't last me forever, and now that the Careers (who else would have killed that tribute?) are over at the other side of the Arena I should be more or les undisturbed. Everyone else should be like me – hiding and not looking for a fight. The others will probably be further away from the Cornucopia than I am.

So I set off. I head to a clearing I know is full of edible berry plants. It shouldn't be too far from here, although going down there will be going closer to the Cornucopia and the rest of the action. After I've stripped the plants clean, I plan on heading further out round the side of the lake, to see what the territory is like there.

Every Games, most tributes carve out a niche for themselves. Their territory, so to speak. Mine is the forest on the side of the lake, away from the Careers. Their own territory is the grassy lakeside by the Cornucopia. I don't know where everyone else is, but I'm not expecting to bump into anyone this close to the Careers' territory.

Which is why I get such a shock when I hear footsteps behind me. I freeze up, but don't turn around. Better to make them think I haven't heard them. After all, if they have long distance weapons, they'd have killed me by now. My grip tightens on my stick. I count the footsteps. The element of surprise is my only hope in a one on one confrontation. I'll have to wait till they're close enough, then lash out and run for it. If I just run now then they can catch up – a non crippled runner always beats a cripple, no matter how fast that cripple is.

But if I manage to wind them first… then I have enough of a head start to get away from there and hide. So that's what I'm hoping to do. The footsteps get closer, closer. Soon I'll strike…

Then they stop. A female voice rings out.

"I could have killed you by now, you know."

I spin around. No point in pretending I don't know she's there anymore. It's the red-haired girl from District Five. Lysandra, that was her name.

"Why haven't you then?" I ask her, unable to fully keep my bitterness out of my voice. "Have you been missing the whole point of the Hunger Games for all these years?"

She stares at me, stunned. After a few seconds she speaks again.

"I would have thought you would be grateful that I spared your life. I could have been one of the Careers, you really should be more careful."

"I don't owe you anything, Lysandra," I tell her, resorting back to my old fake-limp routine and walking away from her. Best to let her know I've been keeping tabs on her.

She says nothing, so I continue: "I'm not as easy to kill as you think."

"I crept up on you easily enough then," she replies. I can see her annoyance on her fox-like face.

"You were lucky," I say. I don't want to give away all my secrets, like the fact I knew she was there, do I?

Lysandra laughs. "I think that you are the lucky one, Lucas," she says, letting me know that she knows my name too, and that I'm not the only one who has been monitoring the opposition carefully.

"Maybe this time," I concede with a slight smile. "That doesn't mean that I owe you any favours."

"I never said that you did."

"Then I'll go this way and you go that way, and we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

I turn to walk away without waiting for a response. If she wanted to kill me, she would have already done so.

"If you like," she says, but calls after me barely two seconds later. "How do you manage in here? I mean with your leg the way it is."

I roll my eyes. I was just getting to respect her, and then she had to blow it. Typical. I turn to stare at her, trying to decide what she's thinking. She doesn't look away.

"It's my foot that's crippled, not my brain. I've been adapting to it my whole life, so why should this be any different?" I tell her eventually, a touch angry.

Logically, I should be proud that everyone underestimates me. But who said feelings were logical?

"I don't mean…I didn't mean to patronise you. I am just surprised that you have avoided the Careers for so long. They are not stupid this year." Surprisingly she seems sincere, if a touch cocky.

"I've avoided them by not being stupid either. You don't have a monopoly on intelligence, District 5."

She nods to me, conceding the point. "I didn't mean to be arrogant, I'm just surprised, that's all. I underestimated you."

Good. My plan worked. And she's definitely sincere. "Good luck, Lysandra."

"Good luck," she replies.

I turn and limp back into the trees in the opposite direction from where I was headed, waiting until I'm sure she can't see me to drop the over exaggerated limp.

I respect her, and if I had the chance to know her better, I'd probably like her. If she'd been born in my District, I have a feeling we'd have been friends. I smile, imagining the possibilities that could come with having a third person as part of our acting troupe. Ren and I do – did – great, but there are so many possibilities open when another person is added to the mix.

If I can't win these Games, I find myself hoping for her to win. Rather have a sane victor than any of the Careers, and so far, other than Vincent, she's the only other tribute who I find myself respecting.

* * *

As night falls, I find myself crawling under a similar bush than the one I had to put up with yesterday. It's a bit closer to my part of the lake – I've resolved not to let it out of my sight often, so that I don't run the risk of dehydration.

Before I fall asleep, I fill up my now-depleted water bottle with lake water and purify it with a few drops of iodine, praying I remembered how to do it correctly. A handful or two of berries is hastily eaten before I bundle my supplies back up in the plastic and attach the water bottle to my back. I want to be ready to move if anything happens.

When I wake up, I eat a few of the crackers and the rest of the berries I collected yesterday. Today I need to restock my supplies of food. My explorations up-lake yesterday didn't find much of anything that looked edible, so I decide return back into the more dangerous territory closer to the Cornucopia and the other tributes where I know there are edible plants.

Again, not everything goes to plan. When I get close to the edge of the grassy lakeside stretch the Careers have claimed as their own I notice that they have returned, and that they are preparing to go tribute hunting again. Crap.

I quietly sneak out of sight of the Cornucopia and then sprint for all I'm worth diagonally, away from the edge of the trees and yet back towards my safe zone. I've seen no signs of any other tributes back there so it seems the optimal place to head. But I also need food, so I keep my eyes peeled for any edible plants I can find.

After a few minutes I slow down to a jog and about half an hour later I judge that it's safe to walk. I've stopped at what looks like a blueberry bush and am about to eat some when I hear a voice.

"You don't want to eat that," says the unknown tribute. It's a girl's voice, and she doesn't sound like Lysandra. It's either Rue or Katniss – any of the female Careers would have killed me by now.

I spin around. Indeed, the tribute I find myself facing is Rue. She stands on the tips of her feet, poised to flee. In her hands she clutches a homemade slingshot, loaded and ready to fire.

Calmly, I pull the plastic bundle off my stick and spin it in my hands. Rue is probably the only tribute I have a chance of beating in a fair fight, especially if I have the element of surprise. But I don't want to fight her, I discover in some surprise.

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask her, fearing that I already know the answer. "They're just blueberries, aren't they?"

She shakes her head, still not completely relaxed. Smart girl. "They're Nightlock. Poisonous. You don't want to eat them."

Is she lying? After all, telling me some berries are poisonous would be a way to get one food supply all to herself – and it looks like she has about as many supplies as I do.

"Why are you helping me?" I ask her. "Wouldn't it be smarter to just let me eat them?"

She shrugs. I guess she doesn't know why. Looking at her, her body poised to flee, I am hit by a sense of just how young this girl is. Made older by watching the Games every year, perhaps, but still very young. Too young to stand by and watch someone die, regardless of if they're enemy or friend. And that… that will be what kills her in the end, I think.

A wave of anger flows through me, but of a different sort than the one I usually get when I think of Rue. Why should the Capitol have the right to kill this girl, still a child, just because of something her ancestors may or may not have taken part in? Who died and made them gods?

I'm about to say something, but then Morgan's face appears in my minds eye. I remember an incident that occurred during the second or third night of training.

Kyra and Morgan were talking in hushed voices – I don't remember about what. Suddenly Kyra said something strongly anti-Capitol. Again, I don't remember exactly what. But what I do remember clearly was the look on Morgan's face.

It looked so… old, I guess. I suppose I'd never fully appreciated Morgan's age, but she must be in her forties at least. I remember her face clearly – the black hair, streaked with grey bits I'd never noticed before; the pale skin, lined and looking far older than I'd previously thought. And most of all, the black eyes. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and Morgan's eyes, usually blank and shuttered with lack of emotion, revealed such a look of pain I had to look away. What has the Capitol done to her?

Remembering where I am, I shoot back into the present day. Great. I'm stuck in the middle of a forest with a twelve year old girl who is supposed to be trying to kill me but somehow instead saved my life. Talk about awkward.

Know I need to say something, so I do. "Uh… thanks for the warning, I guess. I'd best be going soon. You know how it is… food to hunt, Careers to escape…"

At least that gets a smile out of her. "You're welcome. What's your name, by the way? I'm Rue."

"Lucas."

"Oh. Well, I'd say I'd be seeing you around, but I won't will I?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Sorry. Farewell, Rue." I turn to leave and then pause. "And good luck."

"Good luck, Lucas."

* * *

The rest of the day passes in what can only be called peace, or as much as is possible in the Arena. I manage to find a few more berries to replenish my supplies, although even with them I can tell I'm not eating properly. I've always been naturally skinny, and the small layer of fat I managed to put on in the Capitol has been and gone. I'm even skinnier than usual. What's even more worrying is the fact that I'm running out of berries I remember from training, and as my encounter with Rue demonstrated earlier, what I don't know could kill me.

When the anthem plays the sky shows no deaths, as expected. I didn't hear a cannon shot today. This is bad – it means that the audience will be getting bored. And when they Capitol gets bored, it means that they kill off tributes.

At night I go through my usual routine, dividing up my supplies, refilling my water bottle and eating some of my precious food, before curling up under a bush to try and conserve body heat. The jacket seems to be doing its work – none of my exposed areas seem to be exposed to enough cold to freeze them more than what an hour in my pockets once the sun has gone up won't fix. This aside, they do turn a worrying shade of blue tonight.

Hang on a second… blue? It takes my cold-muddled mind a minute to realise what it's seeing. But it's too early to be dawn – unless I've managed to get a decent sleep for once. I climb out of the bush to check, stretching my aching limbs.

Sure enough, it's dawn. But that's not what worries me the most. There's a huge black cloud of smoke billowing off from the forest in the distance. Now there's not much forest back in District Ten – we're up in rocky mountainsides, where there's practically nothing that can grow other than grasses. But I'm not stupid. I can guess what that cloud of smoke means, and it's not good news.

Forest fire. Oh crap. This is bad. Very, very bad.


	10. Chapter 10

**And here is the next chapter. Any comment would be appreciated. Anything at all would be nice... **

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I waste precious minutes trying to clamp down on the urge to panic. Here's a little known fact about me – I dislike fire. I don't hate it or anything, but I regard it with the wariness it deserves. Fire is what killed Aunty A. Fire is what killed the girl from District Eight. Fire is the thing that threatens to kill me at this very moment.

When I gather my wits, I realise that I'm safe. The plumes of smoke are far off in the distance and the lake is a mere ten minute walk away from here. I can easily reach the water in time. I'd just better hope that there are no nasty monsters hiding in the lake. Knowing the Capitol, though, there probably are. I wouldn't put anything past them.

As I gather my few possessions together and begin the walk towards the forested lakeside, I notice a warmth beginning to build up behind me. It's only when I glance back that I realise why – there's more than one fire. This is obviously a tool of the Gamemakers, a machination meant to herd us closer together. And if they kill one or two of us in the process – well, tough luck.

I begin to run in earnest, ignoring the crackling of the fire which threatens to drive me insane. Memories of that other fire which killed Aunty A come back to haunt me. I try to force them away. They'll only cause me to panic. And if I panic, I'm dead.

It's an uphill battle. Both the run and the fight for sanity, coincidentally, remarks the part of my mind which is curiously detached. Never mind that I'm in the most danger I've been in since the beginning of the Games. Never mind that if I don't ignore the growing pain in my right foot and run faster than I've ever run after the accident I will be toast – literally. Never mind all that - a part of my head is resisting becoming one with the urge to survive, and is sitting back taking as many observations as possible.

I trip on a tree root. My face hits the ground, and I scramble to my feet as fast as possible. But too slow, too slow. The fire is gaining. The dull ache in my foot increases – I must have landed badly. Just what I need.

Coughing, I continue to run but now I'm slowing down. I've inhaled too much smoke. This is what killed Aunt Andromeda, not the burns. She was alive when we pulled her out of the burning house, but she couldn't breathe. She choked to death. I hope I don't die like that.

After what seems like an age – but is really only a few minutes, no more than five - I reach the lake. The fire nips at my heels. My breath comes in short gasps, along with a hacking cough. It's too late to worry about whatever monsters they've got swimming in there. Too late to worry if I tied my plastic sheet tight enough to be waterproof. I jump into the lake.

Just in time, too, as the fire has reached the edge of the water. I continue to cough. The world begins to get black edges. Blurry eyed, I notice a familiar red-haired girl collapse into the waters by the Careers' camp, over on the opposite side of the lake. I don't fancy her chances of getting out of there alive.

Barely conscious, I follow suit and collapse. That corner of my mind that stays sane is grateful that this part of the lake isn't deep. I can't swim. We don't have anywhere to learn in District Ten. An interestingly shaped piece of wood floats by - it almost looks like a boy and a girl. It looks like my sculpture! It _is_ my sculpture.

Weakly, I grab hold of it. And then, finally, the world goes black.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky when I wake up. It's about midday. I think that it's still the same day as the fire wall, but I can't be sure. Something digs into my hand and I look down to see what it is.

Sure enough, I didn't let go of my statue. The site of the familiar comforts me as I wake up in water – about as far from District Ten as you can get. There are rumours of an old abandoned quarry filled with water that lies a few hills away from the boundary fence, but that all they are. Rumours. And anyway, even if they were true, no one would be able to get to it anyway.

Recalling my District's total lack of water – unless you count puddles from the winter's near constant rain- I find myself thankful, once again, for the shallowness of the lake.

I stand hesitantly, my clothes soaked through with water. Apparently the wonder jacket isn't waterproof. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it hasn't proven to be particularly adept at keeping out the cold either. Though I must admit, better than nothing.

After a failed attempt at wringing my clothes out, I survey my possessions. My stick and its tied on bundle of plastic must have fallen out of my hand while I was unconscious, because they're floating a few metres down-lake. I wade after them.

Luckily, my knot was tight enough and no water seeped in. Unluckily, what's left is only a few crackers and about the same amount of berries. I'm going to have to deal with not having enough to eat, it seems. I eat two of the crackers and half the berries, and refill my drink bottle.

Then I set off to find more things to eat. There is a reason that this is the Hunger Games, after all. Emphasis on Hunger.

* * *

I end the day with a bit less food than I started it with. I found exactly one berry bush, and the forest is still burnt from the fire. It must have been a trap, meant to push the tributes together. It still is, too. It seems that my hidey-hole is a bit too safe, and that the Game makers have decided that they need to get me closer to the others.

Of course, they'll have noticed that I rely on the bushes for survival. So they've decided that if they remove the bushes from my area, I'll have to venture into the more populated forest to replenish my food supply. Of course, they're right.

I spend the rest of the day in the non burnt forest, cleaning the berry bushes I know of their products. But I return to sleep in the burnt area. No one will think a tribute is crazy enough to stay there, will they? Not to mention the fact that that is where I know I have safe access to a water supply.

I wake up with the sun and go to refill my water bottle. Since I'm not eating nearly enough, I'm determined that at least I'll be fully hydrated. Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly notice movement down on the grassy plain where the Cornucopia is. Anyone looking at the lake can see me, so I dart into the burnt forest. Down at the lake, a drama is being played out.

A red haired figure quickly rises and stumbles of into the forest, that movement quickly changing into a run. She leaves there just in time, as two dark haired figures – one with long, one with short – and two blond haired boys run out of the forest and throw themselves into the lake. They are followed after a minute or two by a dark skinned figure who collapses about halfway to the lake. A small figure that I hadn't noticed sitting by the cornucopia also runs and jumps into the lake. What were they running from?

It appears the drama is over when one of the blond boys gets up and runs into the forest, soon chased by the dark haired boy. There's a few minutes pause, and then two cannons. A hovercraft appears and picks up the dark skinned body. Then the dark haired figure arrives again and collapses in the water.

There is peace of the waterfront. I'm pretty sure that the group in the water (they must be unconscious, or else why aren't they moving?) won't wake up for a while. And I'm also sure they're the Careers – who else would go around in such a big group.

Little by little I figure out possible scenarios as I put iodine in my water and wait for it to be safe to drink. They were all running away from something. But from what? Obviously something I couldn't see. Was it a tribute with poison darts? That would explain the collapsing. But why run to the water? Maybe it was poisonous mist that would be neutralised by water?

And who was chasing whom? I can assume that the large dark haired figure was Cato, as he's the only tribute who meets the requirements. But who was the blond? It could have been Peeta, who would probably only enter likely death to save Katniss. But why? Didn't he betray her by joining the Careers? And what would Katniss be doing down there anyway? I'd thought she'd gone as far away from the Cornucopia as possible, as I haven't seen her at all since the beginning of the Games.

More likely it was Marvel, running to save Glimmer. I didn't see anyone with long blond hair, so it's likely. But why would Cato chase after him?

I decide that pondering this wouldn't help things at all, so I drink my now-safe water and head off to find food. When the sky shows the faces of Glimmer and Varia, it doesn't help solve the mystery at all.

* * *

The next few days pass peacefully, and I fall into a sort of routine. Sleep in burnt forest. Search for edible plants -I've resorted to digging for roots now, too, even though it means I have to light a fire. The Careers are still dead to the world, as I assume are Peeta and Lysandra and probably Katniss too, assuming she was there in the first place. Thresh and Rue seem to be the only people other than me awake – District Three was the small figure in the lake, as I saw when I checked the bodies – and neither of them seem to want to have anything to do with the other tributes.

With the Careers dead, this would be the ideal time to steal from their supplies. But the supplies are arranged in a sort of pyramid, ridiculously tempting to steal from. It must be booby trapped. I don't even waste my time trying to find out how – to overcome traps you need the sort of speed and agility I once had, before my accident robbed them from me. If I tried it I know it would be certain suicide.

But despite the setbacks, the days without the threat of the Careers are the most peaceful I've had since the Reaping. But somehow, I reflect, lying back under a green bush on the edge of the burnt forest, I have a feeling that these days are too good to last.

* * *

For once, it's already light when I wake up. I roll out from under the bush I spent tonight sleeping in, stretch and try to get the kinks out of my joints. My drink bottle is full, as it is every morning. I take a drink to soothe my dry throat and try to figure out what I need to do next.

When surveyed, my bundle of supplies looks ridiculously small. All of the food I smuggled into the Arena a week ago has been eaten. All that I have is a few handfuls of berries and the plastic sheet. I'll need to get more food today, if I can find some. The area wiped out by the fire doesn't look like its growing back, and I've depleted most of the berry bushes that I know of. I'm going to have to go scavenging into new territory.

After finishing off the last of the berries, I set off with a stomach that isn't anywhere near full. I try to ignore its complaints. After all, Ando says that a human can survive three weeks without food. He didn't say it had to be pleasant however, I reflect dryly.

A few steps into my hike, I realise that this isn't going to be as easy as I thought – not that I had thought it would be a walk in the park in any case. My foot, not completely recovered from its bad landing on the day of the fire, has now decided to give up completely. If I must be honest, I'm surprised it's lasted this long.

I sit down on a handy log and use the empty plastic sheet to make a makeshift binding for it. When I put my foot back into its boot, it seems to be better. Still not as good as usual, and definitely not as good as before the accident, so long ago I can sometimes barely remember what it was like to walk normally, but better. Good enough to walk on, at least.

I don't know what it is that makes me miss it. I'm walking along, looking for a berry bush that I recognise. I probably should be paying more attention, since this is the first time I've been in this part of the forest. My two days of freedom have made me relax. But I only see them coming when they dart out of the woods in front of me.

Cato and Marvel. District Two and District One. Two of the Career Tributes, and probably the reason I'm going to die. Really, I'm surprised I'm not panicking more. But my mind seems to be working faster than it ever has before. Maybe it's realised that I'm not going to be alive for much longer, and has decided to make the most of it.

Anyway, for whatever reason it is, I recognise my chances in an instant. No point in running – they'll catch me, and it'll probably hurt more. Instead, I force down the remarkably small amount of fear I have left and greet them cheerfully.

"Hello. Nice of you to drop in. Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

Marvel stares at me. From what I've seen of him, he doesn't have the intellect to do more.

Cato is the one who replies, in a voice that is filled with false lightness. "It's not bad. A bit warm for my liking -"

"Hey, Cato, isn't that what the girl from Twelve told you?"

Cato glares at District One, who at least has the sense to shut up. I nearly say something, then decide against it. I don't think it'd make a difference either way but it's probably not a good idea to antagonise the hulking Career.

"So, District Nine -" says Marvel.

"District Ten."

"What?"

I realise that I was the one who had spoken. "I'm from District Ten, not Nine. I would have thought you'd know that, oh great lapdog of the Capitol." My voice is loaded with so much sarcasm I'm surprised it doesn't fall off and land on the dirt from the weight of it.

District One did me a favour, I suppose. By being the arrogant idiot he naturally is, he's given me an outlet for my fear. I'm still scared, but instead of showing it, I'm turning my fear into contempt.

The blond boy takes a step towards me, fist poised to strike. I just stare at him.

"Marvel!" Cato's admonishment causes him to lower his fist. "He's mine, remember?"

Well that sounds promising. Note the sarcasm.

I swing the stick in Marvel's direction, aiming for his sensitive parts. He doesn't expect it, and I hear a satisfying clunk before he grabs the stick and throws it away.

"That hurt, you little bastard!"

In one fluid movement, the boy from District One steps around behind me and pulls my hands sharply behind my back, so that I can't escape. I don't bother to struggle. There's no point, anyway. And I feel Marvel's grip loosening as he realises that I'm not going to try to get away from him.

I watch Cato with curious eyes as he pulls a knife out of his belt. Inside, I'm trembling as he brings it towards me, but my expression remains one of quiet curiosity and defiance. The knife stabs towards my chest. Well this is it. I'm going to die.

Only I don't. The knife stops, and in one fluid movement, Cato cuts the ribbon that holds my sculpture to my neck. He picks it up and examines it.

"Well, well. What have we here? Is she your girlfriend, District Nine?" It's Marvel, of course. He doesn't know how to shut up, does he?

"District Ten," Cato corrects him. He drops my District Token onto the muddy floor. It sits there, a reminder of happy days had in the past.

I say nothing. Goodbye Ren. I'll miss you. We had good times together. We could have had something, the two of us. Pity it didn't work out that way.

And then Cato brings his knife onto my chest. And then the pain starts. I lose track of time. All that exists is one long red blur of pain, as Cato toys with me, hurting but never killing. We have to give the audience a show, after all.

And because I'm determined not to give them what they want, I say nothing. I don't cry out, I don't flinch. I just give Cato one long stare, a stare that tells him that he can kill me, but he can't beat me.

But the pain is growing. I have a higher tolerance for pain that most others, but I'm reaching my limits. All I can think of is the pain, and how I want it to end. Such pain.

But I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of begging for mercy. I'm not giving in. If I give in, then they've won. And I'm not going to let them win.

Through the red haze of pain, an idea strikes. It's risky. Not for me, but for the people back home. My family. Ren. But if I can pull it off… it'll be my ultimate trick.

With a strength I never knew I had, I begin to struggle. I kick Marvel where it hurts the most. A little something to remember me by. And I don't know how, but I manage to break free from him.

Now comes the risky part of my plan. My leg gives in, and I stumble and trip over the figurine still lying on the ground. I fall, just how I intended.

Straight onto Cato's knife.

The pain is greater than I've ever felt. But it's fading away.

No more pain. Even the pain I've felt since I was eight is gone, slowly fading. To be replaced by something else. Something better.

And I smile.

Because it's ironic.

I finish these Games just how I started them.

But this time not to save my own skin.

But the life of someone else.

I guess it's fitting that -

Just as I've spent all of my life,

I go down acting.


End file.
